Legacy
by ToyzInTheAttik
Summary: Picking up right where Thor 2 left off. MAJOR spoilers for the movie. Heavy tie-ins of the Norse myths not mentioned in the movies, such as Loki's brood. Freeform Marvel/Myth world building, implied & eventual sex, freeform Sif/Loki backstory. Lady Sif has been hiding a secret for years, until Loki unveils it, creating a conflict between duty, loyalty and desire.
1. Cross Deception

A/N: The canon I draw from is predominantly Marvel Cinemaverse and Norse Mythology. I love the bizarre stories of the ancient lore and intend to weave in as many references as I can. I also try to use canon as much as possible over creative liberties, but I still take a few. The old myths have many gaps that I enjoy filling with headcanon.

Disclaimer: The Marvel characters are being used without permission for entertainment purposes only, not for monetary gain.

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The greater the distance put between Lady Sif and The Collector's ship, the more she questioned Odin's reasoning for trusting that time-old eccentric with a power so great and valuable. Were the walls of Asgard and its formidable warriors not protection enough for the Aether? Sif's surroundings were a contrary answer to her question as she navigated around endless debris and ducked under half-toppled columns that littered the corridor to Odin's Hall. She also recalled the condition Algrim's cursed army had left the prison cells in. Perhaps Asgard wasn't best suited at the moment to harbor a cataclysmic power source, but it wouldn't be long before the shining city was restored to its impeccable glory. The ravages of war never hindered it before and Sif would be damned if she allowed some unsightly rubble to tarnish that reputation on her watch.

Upon returning to Asgard via the Bifrost, Sif had asked Heimdall to send a raven ahead of her informing Odin that she was on her way to see him. She never sought the Allfather's company without a direct summons from him, but too many questions and suspicions were burdening her thoughts. With Thor back on Midgard with his...beloved mortal, Sif felt there was none other fit for this duty than her.  
Her footsteps echoed as she entered the royal hall, known as Valaskjalf, and she felt the twist in her gut tighten. The massive room was so much more daunting when not filled with her brethren deities and with Thor's booming voice.

"Allfather?" She took a deep breath as beheld the illustrious throne, but immediately noticed something wasn't right with Odin's posture. He slouched to the side, his face half hidden behind the fist he leaned into. Sif hesitated briefly before she knelt on one knee and placed her arm across her heart. "Thank you...for seeing me on such short notice."

The king smiled then shifted to lean in the other direction. "I assure you, the pleasure is all mine." When he spoke, it was in a familiar tone that was not Odin's. It dripped of insincerity, even mocking. "What matter might stir thee to come without the company of your warrior kinsmen?"

"A couple of matters, my Lord. The first being the task which Volstagg and I have just completed."

"How did that go?" Odin asked. "Was The Collector cooperative?"

"Yes," said Sif. "Very cooperative. And suspiciously eager."

"What is suspicious? I would be eager too if presented with a relic of that caliber." Sif made to speak but was cut off as Odin continued. "What other matters vex your thoughts, my dear?"

Sif was still brimming with questions regarding The Collector and found Odin's dismissal of the topic very...un-kingly of him. By right he shouldn't have to explain himself but he rarely had in the past dismissed the concerns of his highest ranking warriors. He usually let Sif or the other warriors speak freely on issues that bothered them. This behavior further convinced her that something wasn't right.  
The first sign had been a couple days ago, when Sif had encountered Odin in the stables. She was tending to her Pegasus when he came to retrieve Sleipnir, and she couldn't help notice a difference in how the eight-legged steed responded to its master. Where the beast was normally very rigid in its subordination, this time he was relaxed, almost affectionate.

The second sign had been during the last few feasts when Sif saw Odin eating Idunn's apples. She could have sworn he had vowed to abstain from them during his time of mourning. Not only that, but Odin looked just the same here and now as he did before eating the youth-granting fruit, bearing all the weathered creases in his face that he did at Frigga's funeral. None of it made any sense, and Sif was going to unveil whatever evils may be lurking beneath Asgard's royal surface.

"I haven't got all day, Sif," said the imposter. "Have you other matters to discuss or not?"

"Why aren't Idunn's apples having any affect on you?" Sif blurted.

Odin was aghast. "I beg your pardon?"

"I have watched you on multiple occasions partake in the apples yet your face remains haggard."

Odin narrowed his single eye and studied her. Sif held her ground despite the rush of fear chilling her veins.

"You dare come to me like this in my time of mourning?" Odin was incredulous, his words injured. "To discuss apples? To insult me!"

"I have even watched how you eat them, my liege, and your mannerisms are not of yourself." Her voice was starting to waver, her accusations weakening as she saw the fury blaze in her King's eyes.

"And how exactly would you expect me to eat them? How should a king who has just lost his queen, his son, and nearly his entire kingdom, go about his routine? Unchanged, as if nothing has happened? Should I worry myself with something as petty as my appearance? Is that what you are doing to dull the pain of Asgard's loss?"

Sif's logic was just completely upturned. She opened her mouth to speak but could only gape, dumbfounded and speechless. She hadn't even considered how Odin's grief might be playing a role in the changes she had witnessed. Oh, why hadn't she sought the advice from the Warriors Three before barging in here? And why had she been so set on believing evil had compromised him anyway? Was it because she never saw the bodies of either Malekith or Loki? Surely she wasn't the only one who questioned their deaths. Gods are not easy to kill.

Still that didn't justify her impulsive and disrespectful accusations here and now. "My King, please." She bowed her head low, touching it to the floor. "My intentions were-"

"Hold your tongue!"

Sif shrank as she heard Odin rise from the throne, shuddered as his leathers creaked with each unseen movement. She strained the tears back, assuring herself she had faced more brutal confrontations than this on the battlefield, that she didn't wish for the blow of giant's bludgeon or piercing of an elf's arrow over this. But Odin's silence was excruciating and the longer he waited to deliver a sentence on her, the more painful she knew it would be.

Odin had been nothing but good to her since she was a child. Never deeming her an unworthy companion to Thor, never criticizing her for choosing the life of a soldier over a maiden. She was even hearing rumors that she was his preference for Frigga's successor. But if Thor's Midgardian fancies didn't destroy that fantasy, this encounter was surely destined to.

The coldness of the marble floor spread across her forehead. She felt the chamber grow colder by each stretched second and she tucked further in on herself, her armor gouging her gut in a way that should be painful.

Odin began pacing and she held her breath. He never paced. She had truly upset him. A millennium of loyal service, all for nothing. She breathed again when the pacing continued longer than her lungs could bear, and she awaited her sentence. Then the pacing stopped. The room went eerily quiet save her breathing, so she held it again. Then out of nowhere came the sound of a crunching apple followed by the unmistakable crackling of a magic spell.

Sifs eyes shot up to see Loki, smirking with a cheek full of fruit, traces of green magic dispelling the noble facade. She was on her feet in an instant, sword drawn.

"I knew it," she cried.

Loki spun the apple atop his fingers as he stepped down from the throne, closing the safe distance between them. "Is this the mannerism in which you speak?" He now made a show of it, spinning the apple in ways only magic could. "How keen your eye is, Sif. Odin would never play with his food."

One slice of her sword sent the apple flying in two pieces. "What have you done with the Allfather?"

"Wow!" Loki laughed, shaking juice from his hand. "Is this anyway to treat a fallen hero?"

"Treacherous devil, you are no martyr. You may have fooled your doting brother but your tricks do not fool me."

"They don't?" Loki cocked his head. "That was you cowering on the floor a moment a go was it not?"

Sif's nostrils flared. "Where is Odin?"

"Asleep. Again."

"Lies. He would not sleep again so soon. What have you done to him?"

Loki casually licked the apple juice from his fingers, taking his time in explaining his case. "You seem to forget our wise Allfather had awoken early from his last Odinsleep in order to rescue Thor from a crumbling Bifrost, and to cast me into a pit of despair. And then I heard he stayed awake to rebuild the Bifrost and sent you lot off to war. And once that was done he then sentence me, upon my return, into another living hell. Then you factor in the...deaths in the family, and you know what? I'd be rather tuckered out too. All that hypocrisy and guilt."

"You disrespect our King."

Loki's eyes flashed red. "No less than he deserves."

"And what of the Aether? What deception have you forced Volstagg and I to participate in?"

"My intentions..." The change of subject restored Loki's composure. "Are nothing more than what is best for Asgard."

"Do not mock my intelligence. Your actions will only hurt us. They always have."

"It would appear that way to the short-sighted barbarians that populate our warrior class."

"I'm willing to bet your actions played a hand in Frigga's death." Sif didn't entirely believe that but if Loki was going to push buttons, she would push right back.

And pushing was exactly where her words got her, sword to dagger as she parried Loki's sudden attack.

"You will be wise to leave my mother out of this," Loki snarled.

Sif shoved him back then quickly found a comfortable stance, wielding her sword with both hands. She didn't regret leaving her shield behind, not in a duel with Loki. Her sword could deflect anything from that minuscule dagger, and Loki's physical attacks were always predictable. It was the magic she feared most. No shield she ever owned could deflect it and she never knew how it would come at her. The best she could do was keep a sharp focus, and to be prepared when that telling green aura reared its head.

He came at her with multiple jabs of his blade, all futile and only serving to warm her up and sharpen her wits. Her heart was racing, her veins heating with each swing, duck and block. She wasn't aware of the smile stretching her own cheeks until she saw Loki bear his teeth with that grin. She didn't like what that meant. His magic was gearing up for its grand entrance. No more games, she thought. She had to step it up.

Sif barely broke a sweat before she had him in a hold, sword at his throat, ready to slice at the first hint of swirling green dust. Both remained still save their pumping chests, each using the moment to catch their breath.

Loki laughed. "That is the closest your blade will ever come to hurting me."

Sif pulled his arms tighter behind his back and pushed the bladed harder on his throat. "You think I won't do it."

"I know you won't do it." Loki's taunting smile flattened into something softer. He relaxed his back and turned his head toward her, getting comfortable in her hold. "You would never take the life of your son's father."

Sif's heart leaped and her gut wrenched as if pierced with Loki's dagger. She released his arms and withdrew her sword, backing off. "How did you..."

"You believed you had hid him from me all this time." Loki righted himself to a satisfied and seemingly towering stance, twisting his bracers back to their proper place on his arms. "But I am no maiden's fool. I smelled your lies before they even escaped your treacherous lips."

Sif was speechless, paralyzed by dread. She no longer heard Loki's words, her thoughts possessed only by what damage he might have already done, and how she wasn't there to stop it.

Loki continued, losing the smile. "You accuse me of treachery and betrayal but fail to see the hypocrisy of your actions. One more Asgardian denying me of what is rightfully mine, keeping me in the dark on matters entwined in my destiny. And why? Shame."

With a burst of magic, Loki knocked the sword from Sif's hand. She saw the green bolt, smelled the scorched skin on her hand but could pay it no mind. Loki's presence in the room was no longer in Sif's scope. She shoved past him and then fled, running not for her safety but for her son's.


	2. Reunion

A/N: Introducing Ollerus Lokison, aka Ullr/Ull in Norse lore. Ollerus is the Latin version of the name and I had to go with it because "Ollie" was too cute not to use.

Creative liberties taken with Asgardian geography. I needed to create a place where the Valkyries lived outside of Valhalla. In myth, it says there's a large tree just outside the gates called Glasir so I took that and ran with it, creating the Glasir Mountains, Valley and Forest.

_No I would not give you false hope,_  
_On this strange and mournful day._  
_But the mother and child reunion,_  
_Is only a motion away._

_~Paul Simon_

The journey to Glasir Valley had been endless, no matter how quickly Sif urged her Pegasus to fly. A dread unlike any she had known drove her, a dozen horrendous scenarios playing out in her mind, including all the ways her blade could take vengeance on Loki if any harm had been done to her son. That silver tongue alone could do lasting damage. The only shred of comfort she had found over the half-day journey was knowing Loki could not come and go in the Valkyrie lands as he pleased. And had he been there, Eir would have surely known and would have informed her immediately.

The Pegasus alighted atop the hill which Eir's temple stood. Sif dismounted and headed straight in before her equilibrium had even registered she touched ground, stirring the attention of several apprentice healers as she went rushing by. They stared and whispered to each other.

"Eir!" Sif called out once reaching the central chamber. "Where is he, Eir? I need to see him."

The elder turned from her window, her brow furrowing with concern as she greeted Sif with open arms.

Sif embraced her with cold and limp arms. "Please. Where is Ollerus? When did you last see him?"

"Just moments ago." Eir motioned to her window. "He's here, playing in the mountains."

Sif dashed to the window and frantically searched the expansive view, squinting at the distant mountains. "Eir please, I need to see him."

"Okay, Sif, okay." Eir made a placating gesture. "Just calm down." She cast a magnification spell on the view which pulled the mountains in as if they were right outside the window. Sif immediately locked on to a form, not that of a boy's but too small to be a man. He was sliding down a snowy slope, using a shield as a single ski. He laughed and cheered as the snow sloshed around him, and Sif nearly collapsed at the sound of his voice. "Oh thank Yggdrasil."

"Sif, what in the nine realms is going on?" Eir asked.

"Can we go to him?" Sif grasped Eir's arms. "Please."

"If you insist." Eir knew better than to argue with a mother's desperation.

A moment later they were standing at the base of a hill in the Glasir Mountains, ankle deep in snow. Just up the slope from them was a surprised adolescent, quickly closing the distance between them. Even while distracted, his balance on the makeshift ski was impeccable. He was beautiful, and by all mercies unharmed.

As Ollerus came whizzing by, Sif snatched him off the shield with an urgent embrace. They tumbled into the snow where she continued to hold him tight and hammer kisses all over his icy face.

"Mom, what the Hel!?" The boy cried, trying to free himself.

Sif needed a couple more squeezes and several more kisses before she found herself at ease again. She released the squirming body and cupped her hands over his long cheeks, which grew more and more defined with each of her visits.

"Oh, my Ollie." She gazed upon him, his blue skin radiant in the winter setting. "I love you so much."

Ollerus huffed. "Um, I love you too? But what are you doing here?" He dusted off the snow clinging to her bare arms, wondering why she wasn't bothered by it. Sif normally complained about the cold when they were in the mountains together. "I thought you were supposed to be helping to rebuild Asgard."

"I was," Sif said, smiling sweetly as her lanky son removed his cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders. Ornery as he could be at times, he was still the gentleman she had raised him to be. "I just, wanted to see you again."

Sif could see the oddness of her behavior was twisting both Ollerus' and Eir's faces, so she found her composure. As scared as she had been for her son, she saw no need to cry wolf at the moment and worry him for nothing.

"All of Asgard is grieving for its heavy losses," Sif explained, "and I have been grieving with it, doing everything in my ability to help these past few days. It has been so exhausting and the king insisted I take a break. He granted me a holiday, recompense for my service."

Eir was clearly not buying Sif's story but she remained silent.

"Holiday?" Ollerus flashed a look of uncertainty before he found his smile. "I second the King's notion." He nodded and gestured toward his sled. "I can finally teach you how to ski. It'll be fun!"

"Ski?" Sif laughed as she and Ollerus pulled each other up from their indent on the snowy ground. "More like I'll teach you to properly use a shield."

"Boring." The boy rolled his auburn eyes.

Sif scoffed, giving him a playful shove. "Yeah, well you'll be wishing for boring if you find yourself in the shadow of a rock golem."

"Pff, whatever." Ollerus strutted to his half-buried shield. "That rock golem wouldn't know what hit him."

Eir shook her head at the pair's usual antics. She then held an arm out to each of them. "Shall we?"

"Gladly." Sif barked. She and Ollerus grasped Eir's arms and were teleported back to the healer's hall.

The Elder Eir had been the natural choice in aiding Sif to raise Ollerus. Eir was the only Valkyrie in the realm that wielded magic rather than a sword, and many Aesir argued about whether she was a goddess or a Valkyrie as she frequented Asgard to serve as Odin's top physician. No one ever argued over the extent of her skill however, especially the soldiers who depended on her to patch their battle wounds. Sif lost count of all the times she was laid out in the healing chamber, feeling more discomfort from Eir's disapproving looks than whatever weapon was stuck into her body.

Eir lived at the edge of the vast Glasir Mountains, which separated Asgard from Valhalla. Her hall was strategically built atop a hill overlooking all of Asgard, the forest, and the mountains. On a clear day one could even catch a gleam from the gates of Valhalla itself. Sif knew first hand how the Valkyries' territory was a truly enchanted place for a child to grow up. She was eternally grateful to Eir and to the Valkyrie Queen, Brunhild, for taking pity on an orphaned child so many eons ago, and again on a confused and pregnant soldier.

Sif cherished any time she could spend with Ollerus. Her greatest joy that rivaled even the thrill of battle, had been each time her Pegasus' hooves touched down in Glasir Forest and her mud-crusted child would come running, demanding to hear every gory detail of the frontline. She would embrace him and he would search her armor for the souvenir weapon from whichever realm she had just come from. Upon discovery of the new toy, he would immediately want to duel her so he could try out the latest techniques the Valkyries had taught him. Sif never refused his challenges, no matter how beaten her body was from the battlefield.

Ollerus had grown into a fine young adventurer. Despite not having a father or any masculine influence beyond what Sif could bring second hand via Thor and the Warriors Three, she had every confidence he could face the world as adult. He was clever, confident, and so ambitious. He accepted his frost giant heritage as a promise for even greater strengths and size as he got older. Fortunately, he never had to encounter Asgard's bigotry toward beings unlike them. Sif knew that day would come eventually though and she was doing all she could to prepare him for it. If she had her way, he would never set foot in Asgard, but she knew once he was cut loose of the Valkyries, he would go wherever he pleased.

The one thing Sif had never prepared her son for was the inevitable day he would meet his father. All Sif had ever told him about Loki was that he was a shape-shifting sorcerer that roamed the nine realms. "There was only the one night we spent together in Asgard. I never even learned his name."

Sif hated lying to the boy. She had hated lying to everyone, claiming her nine month absence from duty was to receive specialized weapons training from the Valkyries. "What more could you possible learn from those women that I cannot teach you here in the arena?" had been Thor's reaction, yet he still pulled all the necessary strings to get Odin's approval of her leave. Sweet, trusting Thor. Loki was clearly not as easy to fool. She should have known the God of Lies would see right through her attempts.

That had happened only thirteen years ago but it felt like a millennia of tricks and betrayals stood between her son and his father. How could she ever tell Ollerus the truth? After the heights he had built in his mind of who this mysterious sorcerer was, how would the sight of Loki rotting in a cell affect him?

Part of her had wished the story of Loki's sacrifice was true. That would have ultimately been the easiest truth to tell, the path of least resistance, even with the heartache it would bring. It would be better for a boy to mourn the loss of a hero than despise the life of a criminal.

Another part of her was relieved that she no longer had to imagine that body she once held close to hers left to rot on the plains of Svartalfheim. But those were not thoughts she cared to entertain right now.

"Greetings, Heimdall." Sif's Pegasus touched down onto the opalescent surface of the Bifrost and she dismounted with urgency. She had only been able to mask her unease from Ollerus for a couple of sleepless nights before he started giving her funny looks. She had grown desperate for answers. Eir had reached her limit of council and had suggested Sif go to Heimdall before her nervousness permeated all of the healer's hall. "I seek insight only you can offer."

"I have been expecting you." Heimdall stood, hands crossed over his mystical sword.

"Then you know Loki is alive."

"That is correct," Heimdall said. He was the only other Asgardian who knew about Ollerus and his lineage, and not by Sif's choice. It was just impossible to hide anything from Heimdall. "I saw his arrival several days ago but I know not how he traveled into Asgard. It was not by the Bifrost, that much I am certain."

Okay, it was impossible to hide anything from Heimdall, unless you were Loki. "Does anyone else know he is alive?" Sif asked.

"Only the two of us, and that is how it should remain. For now."

Sif was not satisfied with this. "Why?"

"Asgard does not need anymore upsets while it rebuilds."

"But the people have a right to know if harm has come to their king."

"They do indeed," said Heimdall. "But no harm has come to the Allfather. He has returned to the Odinsleep to complete its natural cycle."

"You mean Loki didn't..." Sif struggled to piece it together.

"I am uncertain what event was the final catalyst in triggering the Odinsleep. All I know is it happened around the time of Loki's return, and that Odin is unharmed."

Sif shook her head. "This can't be right, Heimdall. It's just too...convenient for Loki. Has he done something to you? This better not be another trick!"

Heimdall's only movement was to make eye contact with Sif, something he rarely did with anyone so as not interrupt his steadfast watch. His look told her everything. If he were a mortal, 'bitch, please' would be the appropriate words. Sif felt a little sheepish.

"It is not ideal that Loki wear the All-Father's guise," Heimdall shifted his gaze back to the celestial expanse, "however he has brought no harm to Asgard in doing so. He has, in truth, spared the people the news of another Odinsleep, which I am of a mind to think they're not ready for."

"You can't believe Loki has Asgard's best interest at heart."

"I believe Loki will do whatever it takes to stay out of his prison cell, even fake his own sacrifice. What his intentions for Asgard are, I do not know as of yet."

Sif hoped that Heimdall wasn't buying into Loki's alleged redemption the way most of Asgard was. "Do you believe Thor's story, about what happened in Svartalfheim?"

"I have not heard Thor's account directly. Fortunately, I am not at the mercy of his exaggerations to learn of the events."

"You saw it." Sif's eyes widened in wonder. "Tell me, please."

"You need only subtract a few dozen dark elf warriors from Thor's retelling, then watch the fallen prince rise to have seen it as I have."

The imagery brought another wash of relief over Sif. She quickly dismissed it before the emotion could take hold. "Does it not bother you that Loki has tricked his brother out of the throne again?"

"Thor is being denied nothing that he desires." Sif did not like the implication of that, especially since Thor was on Midgard with his mortal. Heimdall continued. "He was offered the throne before his departure to Midgard. He turned it down."

Thor had told Sif about this meeting with his father before he had left. Only now she realized it was Loki Thor had talked to, which meant Loki had been the one to offer up the throne.

"I do not understand any of this." Sif rubbed her forehead.

"Nor do I, but we will in time. Loki's plots are always short-lived."

"This one shall be no different." Sif attempted to simplify the matter. "He is a very unconvincing king. I immediately saw through his veil."

"I am of mind to believe he purposely raised your suspicion," Heimdall made eye contact again. "He is not so careless with other Aesir."

Sif blinked, her confusion robbing her of words.

"Your son is part of his plan," Heimdall continued."That much I think we can be certain."

"No way." Sif spoke in threatening tone. "I will not let him lay a finger on Ollerus."

"Then you need to be more careful. Your attempts to hide the child from his father were futile from the start."

"What are you saying?" Sif grew fearful. "Does Loki know where he is?"

"He has always known. Fortunately he has never dared tread in the territory of the Valkyries beyond the forest's shadows and while not cloaked in magic."

Sif couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Heimdall, why did you let him get that close?"

The guardian's eye twitched. He was clearly growing impatient. "It is not in my duty to interfere in family matters." Sif protested but Heimdall continued. "Loki never intended to do the boy harm. He seemed merely curious. And as much as I wish him punished for each and every crime he has committed on Asgard and abroad, I do not reserve that grudge in the case of a father's right to his child."

Sif felt almost injured by this, a knot forming in her gut that couldn't decide if it was born of insult or guilt. She did not want to succumb to guilt. She wanted to argue with Heimdall, wanted to bombard him with more questions about Loki and The Collector, but she knew, by the shift of his tone and the glint in his eyes that their conversation was over.

Unsatisfied, she forced a gesture of gratitude and mounted her Pegasus. She then left the observatory and returned to Glasir Forest, still convinced she had always done what was best for Ollerus.


	3. The Sting of Denial

Tell me again what I am supposed to be?" Sif asked the rustling leaves just above her.

"You're a stag going to the river for a drink," whispered Ollerus. Sif nodded, a little uncertain.

A hunting game had led mother and son deep into Glasir Forest. Ollerus had spent all morning showing off how stealthily he could travel by tree, leaping from branch to branch, and now he was desperate to demonstrate his skill with the bow and arrow.

"You're not going to shoot me are you?" Sif reached for her shield.

"Don't worry, Mom. These aren't actual hunting arrows. They only hurt a little."

That wasn't very reassuring but Sif could weather a little sting on her son's behalf. He was always worth it.

She made antlers with her hands and ambled down to the river, even grunted a couple of times to really feel the role. Thor and the warriors would piss themselves laughing if they saw her.

Sif's thoughts barely began to picture how she could beat those grins from her battle mates' faces before a sharp pain erupted on her backside. She yelped and cursed. She then twisted around to see an arrow stuck with sap to her left cheek.

"Got you!" Ollerus dropped from the branch and proudly slung his handcrafted yew bow over his shoulder. "Tonight I will feast like a king."

"A king?" Sif plucked the arrow from her rear. "Surely you will feast only as a noble. My rump is not that meaty!" She twisted more to inspect her body, nose crinkling at the sap still clinging to her pants.

"Whatever." Ollerus shook his head as he took his arrow back. "So, what do you think? I got good aim right?"

"I think," Sif fussed over her stained clothing a little more but still flashed her boy an impressed smile, "the Valkyrie's had better keep a close watch on Glasir's stag population." He smiled, satisfied with the praise. "Now," Sif clapped him on the shoulder, "how about we break for some lunch. Eir's students are learning how to cook with magic today, so the food should be interesting at least."

The boys eyes lit up. "That's right I forgot!" He sprang back into the tree. "Race me back. I'll bet I—" Ollerus whipped his head in the direction of the river, distracted by something. Sif followed his gaze but neither saw or heard anything. Ollerus then shrugged and leapt into a neighboring tree. "Bet I can beat you without even touching the ground."

"I sincerely doubt that," Sif challenged. "But how about next time. I need to wash this sap off then I'll be right behind you." The boy was already gone, leaves falling in his wake. Sif smiled proudly as she knelt at the river to scrub her clothes clean, a task that was quickly proving to be a futile with water alone.

"You'll never get it off that way," came a familiar silken voice, accompanied by a swirl of green magic that lifted the sap from her pants. Sif gasped. A long figure then materialized in the river's reflection. Sif sprung to her feet, reaching for her sword instinctively, but she did not draw it upon closer inspection of the figure's appearance.

Loki stood before her at the river's edge, cloaking spell dissipating from his body which was absent of his protective leathers. His thin tunic draped freely from his skinny shoulders, collarbone peeking out at the loose neckline. To the untrained eye, he appeared harmless but Sif knew exactly how many blades could be hidden in his clothing. Plus he was always armed with magic. She kept her hand hovering over the hilt of her sword.

"You should not be here," Sif warned, her heart racing. She wasn't sure what to expect but she also wasn't too surprised to see him.

Loki snorted dismissively. He cast a glance in the direction Ollerus had gone and forced a smile. "What an impressive youth..." He then turned to look at Sif again. "And how lucky he was to inherit your golden locks."

His words were meant to hurt, to remind her of their past. Sif didn't need reminding. The raven strands at the edges of her peripheral were enough.

Loki continued, almost sincerely. "They look stunning against his complexion. I'll admit I am surprised you didn't mask his blue skin under a spell."

"There was no need." Sif kept an edge to her voice."The Valkyries do not discriminate in the case of an innocent child."

Loki cocked his head. "Well now, that is refreshing. A shame I wasn't adopted by the Valkyries."

Sif was not in the mood for his pity games. "What do you want, Loki? You know the Valkyries are liable to kill you on sight." Which Sif assumed was the reason for Loki's casual appearance. The Valkyries were less likely to attack an unarmed man.

"What do I want?" Loki threw his arms up then flopped them down noisily at his sides, his face twisted in disbelief.

Sif might have felt bad about asking such a thoughtless question if she wasn't so tense. She cast her glance around the forest and kept her senses sharp, the fear was ever present that Ollerus would pop out of a tree any moment now. "You need to go."

"Tell me his name," Loki shot back.

"Please. Go." Sif's voice grew uneven.

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me his name." Loki didn't budge. "Do not make me seek him out and ask him myself."

Sif made a noise at the impossible threat, opening her mouth to argue but robbed of any words as Loki took a step toward her.

"Tell. Me. His name." Loki's hard, glistening gaze was penetrating, desperate, something Sif hadn't seen in a long time.

A pang of guilt pulled her hand away from her sword. "His name is Ollerus."

Slowly and deliberately, a corner of Loki's mouth curled up. "...Glory," he spoke the meaning aloud.

"Will you go now?" Sif pleaded.

Loki's smile vanished, his eyes going cold again. "Why did you hide him from me?"

Sif's heart leapt up and choked her. That was the dreaded question, and Loki was asking it, right here right now in Glasir forest. It wasn't a nightmare, wasn't her mind's rehearsal of this encounter. It was real and it gouged like spear.

"I could not risk his fate being decided by anyone but me." When words finally left Sif's lips, they were meek and pathetic.

Loki's mouth formed into the shape of a question but he didn't speak.

Sif continued. "I had finally learned the full truth about your...offspring with that troll witch. And what Odin had done to them."

Loki winced as the memories stung him. His face then shifted to what should have been regret if it was on anyone else's face, but on Loki it was indecipherable. Sif always hated that she could only half read him.

"That troll witch, as so many refer to her," Loki finally spoke "was Angrboda, the frost giantess."

Sif didn't know what she was supposed to do with that information. Part of her didn't even want it.

Loki continued. "Why would you assume our child would be a monster? We didn't know of my lineage then."

"I was scared," Sif began, her voice finding strength in the relief that this secret could finally come out. "I wasn't ready to be a mother. When I discovered my pregnancy, I sought the wisdom of Eir. She told me of your history with the witch, how she bore you three monsters, each of which Odin cast into a dark fate. I could not risk that for my child, no matter what kind of beast I bore. I would not subject him to the judgements of the Aesir.

"You didn't answer my question." Loki's anger was cracking his voice.

"I was cold, Loki." Sif placed her hand over her womb. "Unnaturally so. Had I known at the time you were of Jotunn blood it would have made sense, but to a frightened maiden it felt like a curse. A dark spell by a jealous witch."

Loki shook his head very slightly, pleading. "I still wish you would have come to me."

Now Sif was the one being stung by their past. "I almost did, but you weren't there. When I returned to Asgard soon after Ollie's birth, I asked of your whereabouts and they told me about Idunn's disappearance. How you were the cause of it."

"That is your reason for lying?" Loki was incredulous. "Because I played a trick?"

"You crossed a line. That was a cruel thing to do."

"But did I not return with Idunn? Were my wrongs not righted?"

"You were different." Sif's voice betrayed the sinking in her chest. "No longer the—

"No longer your preferred Prince," Loki interrupted, raising his voice. "If I recall correctly, that was about the time you took a fancy to Thor. He was the obvious choice now, the son all of Asgard favored. The one who would guarantee you the title of Queen."

"What?" Sif was blind sighted. "I do not lust for the throne as you do!"

"A convenient delusion." His voice darkened. "It's sad isn't it. You lost the chance to join the bloodline of Asgardian royalty because Thor would not lie with my leftovers."

"How dare—"

"So you strove to become the great warrior you are now because sharing the front line with Asgardian princes will eternally be the next best thrill to sharing a bed with them."

Sif struck him across the cheek. "Your words are cruel!"

Loki struck her back. "You denied me a son!" The words hurt more than Loki's hand. "A child free from tainted, bestial blood. An heir worthy of the the throne, something even Thor does not possess!"

Sif held her throbbing cheek, shaking her head, wanting to shield her ears and block her thoughts from diverting down a hopeless path. "Asgard would never put Jotunn blood on the throne."

Loki beheld Sif with a tortured look that stabbed deeper than she expected it to. She then realized what it was she had said and how it didn't only apply to their son.

She pulled her hand from her cheek and timidly reached it out to him. "I didn't mean—"

Loki took a step back, a single tear streaking his cheek, his teeth bared. "You're just like him."

He then vanished and all Sif could do was stand, stricken. She then fell to her knees and wept, convulsively, her stomach emptying itself, her tears subjecting her to thirteen years worth of denied regret.


	4. In Which Sif Gets Loki'd

A/N: Sif better strap in tight because she's on one Hel of a roller coaster. Also, I'm pretty sure I ship Eir/Heimdall now.

If you're not familiar with the Norse myths then I suggest reading at least the wiki info about Loki's children. Stuff be makin' more sense then, yo.

Lastly, thank you everyone for the kudos and the lovely, passionate comments. You keep my obsession ablaze.

* * *

"How can you be sick in a hall of healers?" Ollerus complained to a now seemingly permanent lump under the blankets.

Sif could only moan and pull the blankets in tighter. Healers had no cure for her condition. The apothecaries' concoctions only treated symptoms, dulling the thud behind her puffy eyes, calming the tempest in her empty gut. There was no herbal mixture that could undo the past, make her a better mother, a better friend, or lover, or whatever she had been to Loki. She didn't even know anymore beyond its beginnings when they simply got tangled in each others sweaty company to burn off the adrenaline of the battlefield: found more interesting ways to celebrate victory then getting bloated and stupid in the pubs.

Those times had been so much easier.

Ollerus sighed impatiently. "Dinner is ready. Again." His voice now echoed down the hall. "Not that you'll eat it."

Yet those times also lacked a particular degree of challenge and reward.

Sif almost found the gumption to giggle at her son's familiar lack of sympathy for her ailments. It was the same treatment she had given him the last time he was sick. In war no one cared if you had a tummy bug, and the sooner she could prep him for the world outside the better.

Especially in light of recent events.

Sif moaned again, wishing it was merely a tummy bug that bound her to this bed. Not the incessant replaying and analyzing of everything that had happened these past few days. Not the dread of what was going to happen when Loki made a move to rightfully claim his child. And especially not the tease of hope that she could ever have an unbroken family, free of bitterness and betrayal.

That was a pipe dream doomed from the start. Doomed by her own lying tongue.

"Sif." Eir appeared in the room, just in time to rescue Sif from another downward spiral of thought. "You need to eat." She set a steaming bowl on the nightstand and took a seat at the edge of Sif's bed.

"What good will it do?" Sif grumbled.

"It will give you the energy to do what you need to do." Eir's voice was hard, lecturing, another example of the distinct lack of sympathy in this temple for Sif's condition.

Sif sighed, her tone petulant even through the muffle of the covers. "And what is it I need to do?" She preferred to think that Eir didn't know the extent of her troubles, that the elder hadn't found Sif doubled over next to the river in a mess of tears, vomit, and bawling confession of her encounter with Loki. That she was just as ignorant to Sif's failings as a mother as Ollie was.

"Go to him." Eir yanked the blankets down so she could pierce Sif with her most adamant stare. "Apologize. Set the wheels in motion to mend your wounded family."

Sif squinted at Eir with an ugly expression.

"There will not be a better time," Eir continued. "Loki isn't lost, or exiled, or in a cell."

"But it's only a matter of time before he will be," Sif argued.

"That may be. But we don't know for certain. Perhaps being a father to a boy like Ollerus, rather than a brood of demons, will be his redemption."

"No, no, no." Sif covered her ears.

"What is this childish display?" Eir barked.

"I won't believe that." Sif leaned her head in her hands, fingers streaking through tangled hair. "I couldn't bear Ollie's heartache."

"You cannot protect him forever. It's better that you unite the two in a peaceful environment than risk it happening in the courts, or on a battlefield."

"Why does it need to happen at all?" That was a weak argument and Sif knew it.

"Don't be daft." Eir made a grim face. "You know as well as I do this is the right thing to do, no matter the unforeseen outcome. Ollie may indeed have his heart broken but let it be Loki that does it and not his mother." She leaned in, placing her hand on Sif's and quieting her voice. "We've seen first hand the detrimental effects of prolonged deception in a family."

Sif moaned again and pulled the blankets back over her head. Eir wasn't telling her anything her own burdensome thoughts hadn't already driven in over the last couple of days.

"Eat your soup," the elder ordered, exasperated. "I'll give you one more night of self deprecation before I call in the assistance of your warrior friends."

"No!" Sif shot up again. "That would be a disaster."

"Then I suggest you plan your trip back to Asgard in the morning." Eir stood up and made for the door.

"Eir wait." Sif called after her, desperately. Eir paused and turned around. "I can't see him. He hates me right now. He slapped me across the face."

Eir raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "You did slap him first."

Sif growled and buried her face in her arms, muffling her voice. "You're not making this easier."

"It is not meant to be easy. Not when it is the right thing to do."

Sif couldn't argue against that but didn't stop her from making more fitful noises of protest.

"Will you desist this behavior already?" Eir was losing her patience.

Sif sighed and lifted her head back up. "What do I say to him? How do I even approach him?"

"That I do not know." Eir looked back over her shoulder. Her eyes grew heavy with a rare softness and when she spoke, her voice replaced its edge with something oddly nostalgic and regretful.

"Listen to your heart." Eir then left the room.

There was still so much mystery to old healer, the closest being Sif had to a mother figure, a woman full of wonder and intrigue.

However, at the moment, Eir's mysticism was really annoying.

"Are you kidding me? Sif grabbed the spoon from her soup and threw it at the now empty doorway. It clanged loudly and splattered broth on the floor. "Since when do you give advice like a bleeding-heart bard!?"

"You're going to clean that up," came Eir's voice from the hallway.

"I know!" Sif hollered, gripping her scalp in frustration.

One more mess she had to clean up with no one to blame but herself.

Sif didn't wait until tomorrow to leave Glasir. She couldn't take another sleepless night or another of Eir's lectures. She knew what she had to do, and the sooner she got to it, the better off everyone would be. She hoped.

It was dark by the time she arrived in Asgard's shining city district, the illustrious gold statues and spotless stone masonry dusted with a fresh layer of snow that glowed and glistened under the starlight. The short winter days did nothing to diminish the city's splendor. Sif might even call it beautiful if it wasn't as cold as a Jotun king's ass on a frozen throne.

Sif quickly found her way to the fire-lit, revelry-fermented din of the pub. It was just past dinner time so Volstagg and Fandral would be there, a comfortable home base Sif could touch down on to collect her thoughts. She had gotten herself out of bed and into Asgard. That earned her a little pat on the back, right.? And by pat on the back, she meant ale.

Sure enough, half of her crew were at their usual table, bare cleavage broad occupying Fandral's lap (surprisingly only one this time), and bare boned goat carcass nearly in Volstagg's lap. Sif claimed the empty seat next to the larger of the two men, flicking a couple stray pieces of meat in Volstagg's direction before resting her elbows on the table.

"Lady Sif." Fandral greeted from behind a mop of dyed red ringlets. "You look like Hel."

The gaudily-painted broad giggled, giving Sif the elevator eye.

"Thanks," Sif sneered, well aware of her haggard visage. Perhaps she could have hidden the toll of the last few days behind some makeup.

"Where have you been?" Volstagg piped up, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. Sif paid him her attention, the food clinging to his beard a more pleasant sight than Fandral's flavor of the week.

"Been training with the Valkyries." Sif avoided eye contact, still horrible at lying even though she's had so much practice over the years."

"Darling," Fandral said, pouring Sif a mug of ale, "you're supposed to use your time off to rest."

Sif was going to respond but paused when the cleavage with lips nearly swallowed Fandral whole with an interrupting kiss. Apparently she was to be the only 'darling' here.

"What, like you do?" Sif sighed. She then claimed the anticipated mug with both hands. "Training is restful for me." That much wasn't a lie. "How have you spent your time off?" The question was directed to Volstagg. There was no doubt how Fandral was using his time.

"You're looking at it, luv." Volstagg tore a large bite off from a rib bone. Sif could have guessed just as much but she preferred her friend's idle reviews of the menu over making up excuses for her absence.

"That's not all you've been doing." Fandrel chimed in, his lips now smudged with a shade of tacky pink. "Tell her about the ordeal those demon spawn you call children put you through."

Volstagg laughed heartily at the recollection and Sif smiled with intrigue, leaning her full attention toward the jolly man. The shenanigans Volstagg's children put him through always reminded Sif of Ollie's younger days, and she loved being able to relate, even if she couldn't speak of her parallel experiences.

Volstagg took a serious drought of his ale then cleared his throat, prepping for the retelling. Sif propped her chin on her hand, readying herself to listen, that is until Volstagg opened his mouth to speak but instead sent forth the foulest of belches.

"For the love of—" Sif grimaced, backing out of the line of fire and fanning the stench away.

Fandral rolled his eyes. "Classy, mate. Really classy." His lap growth looked utterly repulsed, turned-up nose in a crinkle.

"Oh please." Volstagg was unapologetic. "That was only a tease of what the two of you are capable of."

The busty maiden looked at Fandral with a raised eyebrow.

"He's joking, my sweet dove." Fandral tried to explain but the girl was not convinced. Sif felt the corner of her mouth curl. She then drained the entirety of her mug with one tilt, and Fandral watched her do it. "Sif, what are you doing? Don't do that. Please don't..."

Fandral's pleas were unanswered as Sif unleashed a beast of a noise then shattered the mug on the ground. "Another!" she roared.

Volstagg and a few surrounding revelers cheered and applauded. Sif curtsied a couple of times and Fandral just sat embarrassed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Sif took her seat and slid a full mug to Fandral. "Am I to be the unchallenged victor?" She turned to Volstagg for back-up. He sat, arms crossed over his belly, a hard expectant gaze on Fandral. The maiden scoffed and turned to Fandral with an 'are you serious?' look. Fandral made a relenting face then glanced apologetically at the pink scowl before reaching for his mug.

The maiden shot up from his lap, insulted. "Get back to me when you grow up!" She then turned her vengeance onto Sif. "Who in their right mind gave you the title of Lady anyway?" She didn't stick around for an answer before storming off.

"I did!" Sif bellowed after her. Volstagg chuckled, clapping Sif hard on the back—and nearly knocking the wind out of her—while Fandral glared at them both from behind his tilted mug.

The playboy's attempt at a proper belch would have shamed his ancestors and Sif was awarded, with raised glasses and jolly cheers, the title of champion.

Champion of disgusting bodily noises...

She sighed and plopped back down in her seat. What in the nine realms was she doing here? This was no way to prepare for the inevitable. The ale would certainly help her apology along, but what if Loki were here, disguised, watching her carry on as if the last few days hadn't been a waking nightmare.

Sif excused herself from the table, much to her comrades disappointment, and made her way through the unforgiving night air in the direction of the royal hall. It only took a couple inquiries to learn of the king's exact whereabouts in Valaskjalf, and the hall was just far enough away that she had time to organize her thoughts while she walked.

Well, organize as much as possible given her slight inebriation and the disconcerting fact that she had no idea what to expect from the night. Was it even Loki in kingly disguise she had been directed to, or had the guards merely seen an illusion? And if it was Loki, would even want to see her? She wouldn't blame him if he turned her away. How unfair was it that he had to come to her, risk his safety and his pride, to finally learn the truths of his son?

A wash of guilt chilled her more than the frosty air. She should have gone to him first. A dozen years ago, laid the truth out plainly. Criminal behavior or not, he had a right to know.

Her boot steps now echoed down a grand corridor occupied only by Odin's personal guards. They were faithfully stationed outside of Frigga's bedchamber. Sif stopped in front of the first guard.

"May I see him?" Her voice was shaky and her lips were uncooperative, still thawing from the walk. The guard gave her a strange look before entering the chamber, and Sif understood why. It was odd for anyone to seek Odin's company during off hours, especially while he was alone and mourning. Sif would never dream of interrupting his solitude under normal circumstances.

But these were far from normal circumstances.

The door clicked shut and not a word could be heard from behind it. Which was ideal for when Sif would be in there but not now when she wanted to hear the reaction to her presence.

The guard returned an eternal minute later with a look of surprise and opened the door for Sif. She stepped inside with a nod of gratitude then froze just past the threshold once she saw the facade of Odin seated across the room at Frigga's vanity. The door slammed shut behind her and she turned to look at it, briefly tempted to flee.

When she got a hold of her courage again she turned back around and gasped quietly as Odin disintegrated beneath of sweep of crackling magic, replaced with Loki's slender form. He stood up, gaze cast downward, his eyes in shadow. He was wearing minimal leathers over a warm shade of white linen that almost gave the illusion of purity, a surprising diversion from his usual dark green . Sif shivered at the sight of him. He was under dressed for the drafty room that opened up, free and exposed, to a large balcony. Under dressed for an Aesir that is.

She swallowed tightly and stared as he crossed the room with long easy strides. She was unable to formulate an appropriate greeting and regretfully unable to turn her eyes away. Despite all of his crimes, no one in Asgard could ever say the trickster prince wasn't beautiful to look at. She must have looked like a gaping fool.

He turned an elegant golden hairbrush over in his hands, Frigga's brush. Sif's heart sank for him, knowing intimately how close he was to his mother. Frigga had been his first teacher in the ways of magic, a shared passion that Sif imagined could create bonds as deep as blood. Sif felt a renewed gratefulness that the wars had never taken her from Ollie.

Loki's eyes were now fully visible, cool crystals set in deep sockets, growing closer by the moment. He stopped in front of her and handed her the brush. Sif inhaled the scents of polished leather and bathing salts.

"Mother would have wanted you to have this," he said bitterly, lingering, his gaze curiously inspecting the dark circles and creases of Sif's own sleep deprived eyes.

Sif took the brush apprehensively and lowered her gaze, solemnly, ashamed. It was a gorgeous piece of Dwarven craftsmanship, made of intricately carved gold and fortified with magic. Frigga used to brush Sif's hair with it after a long day of battle training, claiming no other brush was worthy of her golden locks.

She ran her fingers over the bristles. "Thank you," was all she could manage. Loki inhaled deeply then moved past her.

"You reek of ale," he said as he helped himself to a glass of wine. Sif took a sharp, guilty breath and looked over her shoulder to where Loki had gone. There was an assortment of fancy bottles and colorful liquids on a small ornate table. "It seems I have some catching up to do."

Sif exhaled, dodging a bullet. Loki quickly downed his first glass then poured a second. "Would you care for some?"

"No." Sif said automatically but questioned her reasoning. If Loki was drinking, why couldn't she? "Yes," she corrected. It would take the edge off. The affects of her ale had long gone since she entered this room.

Loki walked past her again, holding only his chalice. "Wine's there." Sif barely caught the hint of a smirk as he passed. She made an exasperated noise yet felt her body relax. His teasing wasn't unwelcome.

"Loki..." she began.

Loki circled around to face her, swirling the glass, impaling her with an expectant gaze that made her tense up again. She saw the moment as her cue, as did he apparently.

"I was foolish," she grit out. Loki took a sip of wine then nodded in agreement. "What I did to you was unfair." Loki kept nodding then gestured that she keep going. "And cruel?" He seemed satisfied with that but it was hard to tell.

He finished his wine and returned to the table for a third glass. Was that it? Was that all she had to say? Sif met him at the table and took the refilled chalice from his hand. She wasn't buying the relative ease of the encounter so far, but certainly wasn't going to risk it becoming more difficult by having to deal with both a bitter and drunken prince. Loki was notoriously a lightweight.

"What is this?" Sif gestured to the bottles.

"Spiced thimbleberry." Loki answered lightly. "Mother's personal stash."

"I mean," Sif struggled to keep her voice calm, "your complacency. The drinking. Aren't you going to yell at me or attack me?"

Loki smiled, seemingly entertained by all this.

"Because you can," Sif continued, resolutely. "And I won't fight back. Much."

Loki laughed. "How thoughtful of you." He then walked slowly away from the table, clasping his hands behind his back. "I don't want to fight you."

Sif took a deep, calming breath, quelling the frustration that always came with trying to communicate with Loki. She thought she knew what he wanted most of the time, but she never understood his method of asking for it. He always had to play these information fishing games, as if everyone should be able to read his thoughts.

She took a drink from his glass before speaking. "Loki..."

"Do I get to meet my son or not?" Loki cut in, twisting around.

"We need to handle this delicately," Sif countered. "Take it one step at a time." Her own words surprised her. What did she just imply?

Loki studied her with slitted eyes. "You still think I am a threat to him."

"I don't know what to think." That was the absolute truth. Loki had so far appeared to be harmless with his intentions toward Ollerus but Sif hadn't forgotten the strife he had brought upon Thor and all of Asgard.

"What harm could I do to him?" Loki questioned, arms held out. "He is my flesh and blood."

Sif shook her head. "You sent The Destroyer to kill your own brother. To kill all of us."

"If I wanted you dead, you would be dead." Loki scowled, breaking eye contact. "The Destroyer never stood a chance against Mjolnir."

"Then why did you..?" Sif was at a loss trying to grasp his reasoning. Thor hadn't been wielding Mjolnir, or any of his godly strengths, at the time of the attack. Yet that was the event that had earned him his power back. Could The Destroyer merely have been a test...?

Sif curiously studied the now fidgety god. She then set the chalice down and moved toward him. "Loki, I want Ollerus to know his father, but I have to be sure you won't harm him, in any way. Or that you won't do something that leads to his exile or something worse."

Loki fussed with his tunic's sleeves before speaking, rolling them up to his elbows. His forehead glistened with sweat, which was odd since the room was so cold. It was probably the affects of spiced wine on his alien blood.

"I want only what is best for him, just as you do." A sweeping draft accompanied Loki's statement, the sheer curtains of the canopy bed now swaying behind him.

Sif pulled her fur cloak tighter around her hunching shoulders. "I want to believe that."

"What will it take to convince you?" He rasped deeply.

"I don't know," Sif said, hopelessly.

Loki was clearly not satisfied with the direction of this conversation, having to prove himself when he believed he was faultless. He deliberated for a moment, studying Sif hard while he searched the labyrinth of his mind.

"What if I take you to Fenrir?" he finally spoke.

Sif didn't see that one coming. "The...wolf?"

"My son," Loki corrected. "Ask him whatever questions you like about me, about my parenting. I did bring him up from a pup after all, remember? After Odin had thrown Jormungand to the sea, and banished my daughter to Niefelheim, I begged him to spare Fenrir. I fed and nurtured him when all of the other gods were too frightened to go near him."

Sif nodded, reflectively. "I remember." It wasn't until Loki was away that a handful of gods had made their move on the oversize wolf, fettering and exiling him. Sif hadn't thought much of it at the time, believing the wolf to be only an exotic pet that had gotten out of hand. She shuddered at the thought of Ollie being torn from her protective care. "Will he..." she stuttered." I mean, can he even talk? Or have visitors?"

"He speaks, when he wants to." Loki's tone began to lighten. "And the ban on visiting him is lifted now that I occupy the throne."

The image of meeting the dreaded beast brought a wave of excitement and intrigue. Fenrir was technically Ollie's half brother and Sif had no doubt the boy would thrill to learn of that. Was it too much to dream that the two could ever meet?

Sif's heart skipped and she retreated back to the table to drink from Loki's cup again. She couldn't get ahead of herself. One meeting at a time.

"I—I would like very much to meet him." Sif spoke against the brim of the chalice.

Loki breathed a satisfied waft of air. He then joined her at the table, taking back his cup and drinking from it. Their eyes immediately locked onto each others, intent, exchanging thoughts of...what? Forgiveness? Hope? The prospect of a shared adventure to Fenrir's isle? At what point had this encounter taken a turn for the better? Why wasn't Loki still angry at her? It must be the wine.

Loki pulled the cup from his lips, now stained a warm purple. Then in one smooth motion he set the cup down and took Sif's chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her head to the side. Her pulse flurried through her stiffening body, and against her better judgement she closed her eyes and awaited his next move. She heard his lips part and smelled on his exhale the flavor of spices and silver tongue. It teased her senses with a forgotten spark.

She hung in the moment with youthful expectation, and then Loki spoke. "How is your cheek?"

Sif's eyes fluttered open to witness a flattened smirk. "My cheek?" She smiled clumsily and felt her face heat up despite Loki's cool touch. "It's fine." Was he kidding? He never even left a mark. "Yours is the one that was hit harder," she teased back, fumbling for control of the situation. Loki released her chin but she was not ready to end the moment. She reached up and pushed a lone strand of raven hair behind his ear, maintaining the small gap between their bodies, studying every last pour on his face. The wine had given his cheeks a wash of color and his skin was clammy to the touch. His hair was damp, like it always had been, a seemingly permanent feature, only now since they had learned of his lineage, did she understand why. Ollie's hair was the same way, even though it shined with her warm golden hues.

Loki's eyes draped closed when Sif's fingers brushed his skin, his long lashes dusting the dark crescents beneath them. She continued to trace his hairline with the backs of her fingers, over his assaulted cheekbone, into the hollow below and finally stopping at the intersection of jaw and neck. She had no idea what she was doing yet she couldn't stop. The absence of his gaze upon her seemed to give her hand free reign.

The moment could have stretched into dawn, until Loki opened his eyes. They were pained, to Sif's unsettling surprise, and a little fearful. She stilled her hand, her thumb still daring to graze his cheekbone. Her heart pounded and her her eyes searched his for answers.

"We'll leave tomorrow morning." He turned sharply from her, rejecting her touch, his body disappearing beneath a kingly disguise as he walked toward the door. "Meet me at the stables at dawn."

The mood shift in the room could have given Sif whiplash.

"Lyngvi is a full day's ride so pack accordingly," he now spoke in Odin's voice.

Sif allowed herself only a moment of shock, embarrassment, and insult before dropping her hand to her side and raising her chin. When the old god reached for the door, she was already upon it, yanking it open for herself.

"Stables. Dawn," she snapped, leaving the room, putting on a show of absolute composure for the guards and for everyone she walked past on the way back to the pub.

It wasn't until she reclaimed her seat next to Volstagg, and wrapped her defiant hands around a full mug of ale, that she let out a proper growl of frustration. Her forehead dropped to the table and she began thumping it, much to Volstagg and Fandral's curiosity.

"Something on your mind, darling?" Fandral inquired, his lap filled with floozy again, a blond this time. Sif groaned.

"Anything you care to talk about?" Volstagg asked. Sif didn't respond, merely lifted her head just enough to pour the needed ale down her throat. "Hmm, one of those kind of nights?" She nodded into her mug. "Very well then."

He took Sif's now empty mug and smashed it on the floor. "Another for the lady! And bring me a goose as well. Looks like we're riding this night until tomorrow."

And what a tomorrow it was going to be.

* * *

(ps, if you're a soundtrack dork like me, go listen to "Rise Up With Fists" by Jenny Lewis and the Watson Twins. )


	5. Journey to the Past

A/N: ALL the backstory! It just kept coming and I couldn't stop it! And this may be the last week I can keep a T rating. I think I'm pushing it a bit with this chapter...

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Lady Sif's first time with Loki had been beneath the broad boughs of an ancient yew tree, very much like the one they were passing by now in the wilds of Asgard.

They were a only a of couple hours into their journey to meet Fenrir, having met at dawn as arranged and departing through the fog of the waterfall-misted city. It felt like longer than that to Sif though. Her head was pounding from her all-nighter in the undercity, not to mention she hadn't slept properly over the last few nights. Loki's lack of stimulating conversation wasn't helping much either. He was riding lead, guiding them over forgotten paths that scored the city's surrounding mountains, which led down into a lush valley.

The ease and undeniable beauty of the ride was giving Sif's sleepy mind far too much freedom to avoid the fears and expectations that surrounded their meeting with the wolf, and to instead ponder over days past, spent beneath watchful trees such as this one.

As they passed by the old yew, Sif couldn't help but wonder what _their_ tree would have to say about Loki's sticky back being shoved flush to her ragged bark. Or about Sif skinning her naked knees on the solid, plunging roots. She squinted at the tree, a challenge of sorts. The older arbors were fabled to whisper among themselves, and to the wood elves of Alfheim, prattling though their fractals of rooted networks, sharing insights that even Heimdall was blind to.

That day beneath the yew had been a blessed break from years of monotonous duty in a mindless campaign to protect the wilds of Asgard from encroaching troll squatters...

Sif had been reassigned to the solo task of scouting and reporting back any found troll camps. It was a simple task any grunt could do, a downgrade from her previous assignment, and just an all around waste of everyone's time. She didn't need back-up to run off packs of vagrant trolls. Her battle cry and masterful twirl of the polearm were more than enough to get the job done, so that was how she had handled it. Her superiors, however, disagreed with her tactics, and once the captains learned of her reckless behavior, they decided it best to assign her a scouting partner.

It had been Thor's idea to pair her with Loki, figuring his brother's wits and Sif's physical prowess were well matched to keep each other out of trouble, but mostly Thor wanted Sif to keep an eye on Loki.

Sif hadn't been the only one misbehaving. The unruly prince had been neglecting his assignments for years, stealing away to Angrboda's dwelling instead, which was conveniently nestled near a troll camp. A select team of soldiers were eventually assigned to follow him, and upon discovery of the witch's hideout, they detained Loki and captured his offspring. No one ever found Angrboda that day. She hadn't been at the house when they ransacked it. It was rumored that she returned to Jotunheim, and eventually went mad from separation with her children.

Loki had been taken directly to Odin to account for his actions, which he did with surprising honesty. Still, the All-father became furious that a prince of Asgard, his son, had both neglected his duty as a soldier and involved the bloodline with that of an enemy witch's. Gossip erupted throughout Asgard, fear mongering over the half-Jotun beasts that were being held within the city. Odin was humiliated and saw no other option but to exile two of three cursed grandchildren, sparing the wolf pup only because of Loki's pleas.

Needless to say—and by the magic of Thor's influence on his father's decisions— Sif had soon been partnered with a very forlorn, very brooding prince. Their first few weeks together had been conducted in bitter silence, conversation only at a bare minimum. Loki was severely soured by his father's actions and Sif, knowing only bits and pieces of what he had done, had no idea how to even approach the subject, so she avoided it all together. Plus they both resented the idea that either of them needed a babysitter.

But eventually and inevitably, the awkward silences thawed into small talk. Then came the lively arguments, which usually followed one of Loki's tricks. The missions had grown so boring with the troll's numbers dropping that the prince had sought other means of preoccupation, and Sif was the only victim around. While a lunch basket infested with frogs or a water pouch full of the bartender's most potent brew wasn't Sif's top choice of entertainment, it was a welcome change to the dredging routine their days had become, and it gave her a living, deserving target to practice on.

She had attempted a few tricks of her own but they always paled in comparison to Loki's. And he would always see them coming. He had tried to explain the workings of magic to her, but he might as well have been speaking Vanir. Magic just wasn't her thing. The only trick she had ever gotten him with was the one that pinned him against that tree, a situation that hotly escalated to a frantic fumbling over armor buckles and urgent tearing of linens.

They could have gotten into so much trouble that day...

Sif breathed sharply at the tingling memory, casting her gaze forward to the figure mounted upon a steed of eight legs. Once again, Loki was her riding partner.

She watched his stringy hair dance freely with the morning breeze, her eyes then drifting down slowly over the tapered body that held naturally a royal riding posture. Even steeped in mischief, the dark prince was always so cultured, so alien yet so uniquely enticing. Sif had never regretted that sticky summer day spent panting beneath the yew's swollen foliage, nor had she regretted the times that had followed in the foreign lands of their next campaign.

Odin had negotiated with the light elves of Alfheim, requesting they cease their expansion over their troll neighbors' lands, which had been the initial cause of the alien invasion into Asgard. The elves had reluctantly agreed, at least their nobles did, but it had taken no time for the poorer classes to carry on as they always had, seeking new lands to merely survive on, and once again drive the trolls out.

Sure enough, the drums of war had sounded again, this time in the eerily enchanted jungles of Alfheim to intervene on an Elven civil war.

The battles had been more treacherous than expected, the terrain unknown and the badgering fairies an incessant distraction. Even Loki, once squeezing them into confessing their spell's secrets, had grown weary of their pranks and teasing. All of the warriors were exhausted at the close of each day and sought refuge in the villages of the allied elves. The pubs were the only source of relaxation and release, and that had grown old fast for a shield maiden and a rebel prince now bitten by Freyja's hunger.

They had quickly made a sport of finding the most exotic places possible to indulge their desires, from a grotto encrusted with gems, to a mermaid lagoon, even, on occasion, across enemy lines, just for the added thrill. They had been seen once by the enemy, but who caught who was still up for debate. The hapless elf was merely seeking his usual toadstool ring of refuge to partake, in secret, of his bootlegged Dwarven mead, which he had dropped upon seeing the grunting tangle of Asgardians in his spot. After his retreat, Loki and Sif hadn't hesitated to work the abandoned booty into their throes of pleasure.

That following morning had, regretfully, been an exercise in pain management. There was a reason Dwarven brew was banned from most realms, especially among the ranks of soldiers. It rendered a body ravaged, listless, a head reduced to a giant's kickball and a gut the habitat of the foulest of swamp ooze. Fortunately, Sif and Loki had been strategically assigned to the same mission that day by an empathetic god of thunder, ensuring that misery indeed had good company. It was the easiest mission available, the kind usually reserved for those lightly injured in battle.

Funny how Thor had been repeatedly pulling the strings behind them.

Their assignment had them comfortably set up at the river just outside of base camp, filling water pouches and restocking rations for the soldiers doing the real work that day. Sif had lost count of all the dirty looks given to Loki by war-weary men, who would gladly sacrifice a limb to swap places with him, propping _their_ bared feet up on supply crates, a dampened cloth draped over _their_ forehead and eyes. The spoiled prince never even acknowledged those whom he was so royally pissing off.

Luckily Sif's conscience had still been intact, and she saw each soldier off with an encouraging clap to their shoulder, a warm smile, and occasionally a good luck peck on the cheek. The younger soldiers would blush at that.

"You're insufferable," came Loki's bedraggled voice once the last of the soldiers had gone.

Sif looked at him, straight-faced, too tired to be insulted. "You're just jealous."

"That's it." A brow could be seen raising beneath Loki's cooling cloth, thin fabric betraying the sharp curves of his profile. "I'm immensely jealous that I can't use my girly charms to gloss over my neglect of duty." Typical Loki, going straight for her conscience. "Never mind that I could disguise myself as a shapely elf nurse, earning the praise of these subordinate grunts rather than their petty judgements."

"A wise tactic that should have been your course of action instead of this, laying about like, well, like the spoiled prince you are," Sif teased more than she advised. "If you're to one day be their king, you should be more thoughtful to their opinions of you."

Loki snorted, unamused. "Right."

"I'm serious," Sif had said, ignorant at the time of how she had deluded herself to Loki's bad reputation among the ranks.

"Sif..." Loki grew exasperated. "Can we please change the subject? My head has not the tolerance to think about this now." He breathed deeply, laying his head to the side. There was a long pause before he spoke again. "I would much rather dwell on more pleasurable things, such as my memories of last night." He pulled the cloth from face, revealing a set of devious eyes that scanned the lengths of Sif's exposed feet and legs. Her boots were off and her pants were rolled up halfway up her thighs to keep from getting wet when she refilled water pouches in the river. It was a rare look for her, and a welcome one at the time given the humidity of the elven jungles.

Sif smoothed her armored skirt down, awkwardly, first blushing then smirking. "I'm surprised you have any memories of last night. Lightweight."

Loki cocked his brow. "I remember enough."

Sif gave him a sidelong glance then scanned the surrounding area, ensuring there wasn't another incoming platoon of parched soldiers. Hearing only the harmonies of feathered serpents and pygmy nymphs in the canopies above, she swayed over to the prince's long, lazy body, slowly pulling the cloth from between his fingers and wading into the river to re-wet it, acting like some kind of exotic siren. She still couldn't believe the of behavior he had summoned in her.

She trailed her now dripping hand over his hair and swung a wet leg over him, taking a seat in the crook of his wide-angled body. He made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a growl as she settled herself on his hips. She freed the drained cloth from her fist and began delicately dabbing beads of sweat from his face.

You're so sweaty," she purred, moving the fabric down his neck and into the split of his tunic.

Loki lidded his eyes and took another deep breath, exhaling it with a low hum. "I hate this place."

Her brow furrowed. She continued to glide the cloth over his now curiously blotching skin. "We'll be home before you know it." Her voice lightened to the tone she had been using with the soldiers. "Everything will be back to normal."

Words spoken in vain. Things never had gone back to normal, for they had never known their routine in Asgard to involve each other so intimately.

It had been fun at first though, anticipation building up over too many busy weeks filled with post-war duties. They caught only passing glimpses of the other for too long, but finally the day came when their schedules had compatible gaps. She hurried through weapons training then sought him out in the library, her golden locks still dripping from her hasty shower. Clean was enough for her. She hadn't had the patience for stylish, not while he was awaiting her, pretending to engross himself in subjects she couldn't even pronounce.

They stole away to a dark nook in the grand architecture known only by him. And it was there, for the first time, and very much to Sif's surprise, that they had made love. It wasn't a raw duel for control, or a heady contest of who could last longer, or even the cathartic simplicity of rushing to release after a trying day. It was a tender, exploratory exchange of gentle caresses and prolonged, dawning gazes.

It was unlike anything Sif had ever felt, and her eruptive cries rang out through the library's east wing. She then melted onto him, muffling her moans into his neck when he peaked, his rigid body shuddering wildly before going limp in her hold.

The moment was true poetry, not the endless drivel on the shelves nearby, but the pure essence of what inspired those words to be penned.

Unfortunately, a moment was all they would ever share in it. For soon after, a frighting and relentless cold grew through Sif's body. She immediately went to Eir for answers, who had conveniently been in Asgard at the time. When Eir explained the known history of Loki's offspring, Sif soon found herself wandering the undercity, aimless and confused, hearing only the gossip about Loki's cursed brood and the fate Odin had damned them to.

No one in Asgard could know about her child, especially not anyone in the royal family.

She had met with Loki one last time before taking a nine month refuge in the Valkyries' lands, stuttering out the hardest lies she had ever spoken.

It hadn't been a surprise to wake up a year later, her scalp robbed of its golden splendor, replaced with stubble as black as Loki believed her heart to be.

***Present Day***

After a long day under a shamelessly warm winter sun, the journey brought the weary pair to a semi-wooded meadow. It was lush and inhabiting, an ideal spot to camp, divided by a shallow but determined creek whose sunset-colored waters raced toward the sea, fleeing the halting onset of night.

"You'll want to gather as much firewood as you can find," Loki said, pulling his pack from Sleipnir's side. "The cold will move in before the sun has finished setting."

Sif removed her own pack and looked over at Loki, his hair and collar soaked with sweat from the onslaught of a full day's sun. At least one of them would enjoy the cold night. "Will you be alright?" She pulled a hatchet from her pack and stuck it in her belt.

"I'll be fine," he said, deflecting her concern. "Worry about yourself."

She sighed, throwing a rope over her shoulder and setting off toward a clumping of trees. He had been evading her attempts at conversation all day, rendering her exhausted of his complicated company. The sooner she could get this fire going and crawl into her knapsack, the better it would be for both of them.

The meadow was generous with its offering of loose dried branches, so it didn't take long to gather enough to last the night. She tied it all in a bundle and heaved it onto her shoulder, proud of the weight she could carry without assistance. Fandral would probably buckle under this load and then whine for Hogun to take it from him.

The thought made her smile, a pleasant distraction from the encroaching cold air.

When she returned to the creek, there were only the two steeds and their two packs, no signs of Loki. As she drew closer, she noticed his his cape crumpled on the ground, then his boots next to it, then his jerkin, then his tunic, then his blades, even his socks! She plopped the wood bundle down and cast her glance around the camp.

"Is this a trick?" she called out to nothing, unamused.

"It could be." His voice came from the creek, barely audible over the sound of moving water.

Sif walked toward the voice, her jaw dropping when she saw him lying flat on his back in the shallow creek, wearing only his leather breeches, frantic water rushing over and around him. "You're crazy!"

He lazily tilted his head toward her, eyes scanning the length of her body. "You're filthy." His mouth found its smirk, a small one. "Perhaps you should join me in here."

Now his words, like his actions, were lunacy. But they were also the nicest thing he had said to her all day. "Loki." Sif pointed at the creek. "There's ice forming at the edges."

He gestured to himself. "Frost giant."

She planted a her hand on her hip. "You didn't used to be this sensitive to heat. I've seen you spend entire days in the summer sun, no worse for wear than the rest of us."

"Suppose it's a mind over matter thing. Or perhaps ignorance is bliss." Loki sighed, already bored with the topic.

She wasn't quite sure what he meant but she wasn't going to stand around and freeze to death while trying to translate his riddles. She fetched the firewood and unbound it from the rope, letting the wood spill with a raucous at her feet. Loki flinched at the clamor, annoyed.

"So, what does that mean?" Sif started picking the kindling out of the pile. "Knowing what you are makes it more real, somehow?"

"Somehow, yes." Loki's tone betrayed how much didn't enjoy talking about things he couldn't explain. "What about you?" And there was the diversion. "You didn't used to be this sensitive to cold."

Sif paused her arranging of kindling, wondering if he knew just how delicate a matter his statement was touching on. He always could cut straight to the chase.

She resumed her task with the firewood, voice growing distant. "That changed after I carried Ollerus. Eir says he lowered my body temperature to suit his comfort level, and it never fully recovered."

"Smart lad," Loki replied immediately, no trace of sympathy. "Instinctively knew to adapt his surroundings to him."

Sif was desperate to change the subject, too exhausted to handle this now. She looked over at Loki's drenched body and saw, to her surprise, his skin was turning blue where the water touched him, a more saturated blue than Ollie's complexion. It was unexpectedly beautiful to look at.

"Why don't you stay blue?" she asked. "Now that everyone knows, why bother hiding it?"

Sif watched his bare chest rise and fall before he spoke. "Because Odin's spells are as stubborn as he." His voice darkened. "I can't tell you how many times I've tried to replace his with my own."

"How is it changing now?" Sif asked, curiosity stronger than her sympathy.

"The spell weakens when he is asleep." Again, Loki sounded bothered to have to offer an explanation. "But contact with extreme cold over time will temporarily hide it."

"Then Odin truly does sleep." Sif's movements slowed with her realization. Had Loki actually told her the truth about his father's condition? "When did he fall asleep?"

"When I told him the news of my death," he said, resigning himself to Sif's interrogation.

Sif did a double take. "Come again?"

"I was disguised as a soldier."

"Why would you do that?" she pushed.

"I wanted to see his reaction." Loki paused, as if trying to get angry but unable to. "And when sleep overcame him, I assumed his image. I wanted to see everyone's reaction when I announced my own death."

"And when Asgard mourned you, labeled you a hero, a martyr, why did you continue the deception?" Sif was trying no to get angry. "You couldn't bear handing the throne over to Thor, could you."

"Pretty much."

His confession surprised her. She opened her mouth but very little came out. "Oh." At least he was being honest. "What do you intend to do with it?

"Exactly what the king of Asgard should do." Loki's voice found a lofty tone. "Look after her, and all of the nine realms."

Sif wasn't convinced. "How can you say that after everything you have done? The lives you've taken."

He turned a sly smile to her. "Well, you always did like me best when I was at my worst behavior."

"I-I do not." She fumbled with the firewood. "Come on, I'm being serious."

The playfulness left Loki's voice and he turned to gaze up at the stars again. "I have seen powers greater than that of Surtr's outside of the nine realms. Cataclysmic magic beyond even the grasp of Alfheim's elder sorcerers." Sif looked up, stilled by his icy sincerity. He continued. "I know what is needed to protect us from the prophecies. I have touched the necessary forces, felt them pulse through my very being."

"The Aether?" Sif asked.

"And the casket. And the tesseract." Loki now spoke with longing. "No one in the nine realms understands their power as I do. No one is as fit to lead us into Ragnarok as I.

Sif quickly grew uncomfortable with all of this, prophetic talk. If he wasn't speaking with such stark clarity then she would have mistaken him for a lunatic, and that was too much for her exhausted mind to take right now. She should be grateful he was finally opening up to her, but it...it was just too much.

She shifted her attention to her pockets, searching for her flint and tinder, the silence between them dragging on awkwardly.

Loki took that as his cue to get up, his dripping, half-naked body now coming up the short bank that spanned between them. Sif couldn't help but watch him as he collected his tunic, turning his back to her and slipping the thin cloth over his body. The fabric clung to his wet flesh as he pulled it over his chest then stomach, covering the distinctly Jotun patterns etched in his skin.

"Ollie has those same patterns on his back." Sif's words tumbled out. The subject of their son wasn't as daunting to talk about anymore. "Until he was born, I had always assumed frost giant markings were tattoos."

Loki turned around, glancing briefly at her before squatting to pick up his socks. "When did he learn he had Jotun blood?"

"As soon as he could comprehend what it meant." Sif scraped steel to stone, sprinkling sparks into the teepee of wood.

Loki was pleased with her answer. He sat down across the would–be fire from her, drawing a knee up to put his sock on. "Was he ever ashamed of it?"

Sif shook her head, glancing up just in time to catch the last of Loki's blue skin fade behind an Aesir beige. She tried not to stare. "He's used to being different. Being a child and being a boy alone will single you out in the Valkyrie realm. The skin color didn't make much difference to him."

Loki leaned forward into his knee, one sock on, one still in his grasp. "How was he treated by the Valkyries. We're they cruel?"

"Are you kidding?" Sif laughed. "They adore him. Valkyries spend all of their time carting around dead heroes and serving the Einherjar, so they never get to be with living, breathing children. Ollie is a treat to them, especially the younger Valkyries who he's now old enough to flirt with. The crones will pretend he's a bother, but I see them slipping him sweets and trinkets when they think no one's looking."

Sif had gotten so swept up in bragging about Ollie that she was doing a poor job of lighting the fire.

Loki watched the constant and useless spray of sparks, his mind wrapping around Sif's words. "He didn't have other children to play around."

Sif's hands stalled, her shoulders sinking a little. "No, he didn't." As much as she wanted to, she couldn't give Ollie everything. "But he watches, when the occasional child is carried to Valhalla. It's...morbid I know, but, well, he's just so curious. He found himself an amazing vantage point up in Glasir mountains to watch the heroes carried through the gates." She paused, resuming the scraping but still getting nowhere, Loki's eyes burned holes in her hands. "Oh for love of—If Ollie were here, this fire would already be blazing. He loves camping, especially in the snow." She flashed Loki a smile at that one. "He's taken up skiing, using my shield as a device to stand on, and he wants to teach me, but I don't know..."

Loki cut in. "Perhaps he can teach me."

Sif paused, the image freezing her hands in place. She didn't know how to respond to that, wasn't ready to accept that was yet a possibility.

Loki put his other sock on then sat up on his knees. "Pull your hands back." Sif blinked and did as she was told, half expecting what was going to happen. Sure enough, her fire came to life from a simple green flame conjured out of nowhere.

She put away the flint and tinder. "That's cheating." She smiled at him, unfurling her knapsack.

Loki rose to feet, lifting his cloak off the ground and shaking it out. He then bent over at her side, wrapping it around her shoulders. "I won't be needing it."

She was touched by the gesture. It was the same kindness Ollie had recently showed her. She looked up at him. "Not even to sleep?

"I won't be sleeping." He backed off from the flames.

"What?" Sif argued, trying to ignore the smell of him on the cloak that the heat was making more potent by the moment. "Even frost giants need sleep."

He now stood at Sleipnir's side, running his hand slowly down the formidable steed's neck. "Goodnight, Lady Sif." He then led the horse to a patch of tall grass which the beast could feed on.

Sif watched the pair as long as her heavy eyes would allow, warmth spreading fondly through her body as she climbed into her bed. She heard indecipherable murmurs coming from Loki and equine snorts that responded favorably to him. That warmed her even more.

She closed her eyes. Her mind had only a moment to dwell upon the day's events before sleep consumed her wholly. The moment had been enough, however, to marvel at the vast contrast between their past adventures in the wilds and their current one.


	6. Loki's Brood, Pt 1

Mood swings and sweet moments. Nothing to bump the rating to mature.

Yet...

Christmas prepping has my head in a spin so I'm going to blame any typos and OOCness on that. And who doesn't like a little fluff at this time of year, amirite?Happy Holidays everyone! Thank you again for reading.

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"Not going to sleep, my arse." Sif stood over Loki's sleeping body, jabbing her toe into his ribs, a spot she knew him to be ticklish. Yeah, it was a rude thing to do but they had a big day ahead of them and they needed to get moving. The sooner she could meet Fenrir, the less time she would have to get anxious about it.

Loki squirmed then jerked awake into a sitting position, a small shank readied in his white-knuckled fist. His teeth were bared beneath a disheveled splay of stringy black locks.

Sif snorted at the sight. "Good thing I wasn't depending on you to keep me safe while I slept."

Reality dawned slowly onto Loki. He squinted at the harsh morning rays that beamed unmercifully around Sif's silhouette. Huffing, he pushed his hair out of his face and put his weapon away. "Since when do you depend on anyone for your safety?" His voice was as scraggly as the few remaining strands still hanging over his slitted eyes.

"Since...never." Wow, did he just compliment her?

Sif squatted at his side, jiggling a small plate of nuts and fruits in front of him, making them dance wildly. Loki watched the neurotic little foods quizzically, brow furrowed.

"Eat these," Sif ordered. She set the plate on his lap then lightly swiped the lingering strings of hair off of his groggy face, revealing fully the sheer weight of his irritated squint. She countered it with a smirk. "They'll put hair on your chest."

Loki eyes followed hers as she rose from his side, his expression unchanging. "You seem to have confused which generation of Laufeyson I am."

Sif smiled over her shoulder then she began kicking apart the now smoldering logs of the spent campfire. It was weird to think of Ollerus as related to King Laufey, so she didn't dwell on it for long. She watched as Loki shifted to sit crossed-legged, adjusting the plate to the center of his lap. "I hope breakfast is to your liking," she said. "The salmon berries in particular are one of Ollie's favorites."

Loki sampled a couple of the tiny orange fruits, nodding thoughtfully as his jaw worked. "Mine too. Did you pick these this morning?" He cast his glance around the camp, noticing how both steeds were already saddled and packed.

"Yep," Sif replied, tossing a smoking log into the creek.

"I see you're still a morning pers—hey!" Loki jerked his plate away as Sleipnir's muzzle pushed into his lap. "No! My breakfast!"

Sif chuckled as she watched Loki's lanky body all but disappear beneath eight insistent legs, his voice straining. "She picked these for me, not you!" His long arm stretched out in whichever direction would hold the plate farthest from hungry horse lips.

A couple calling clicks was all it took to rescue the squirming prince. Both Sleipnir and Fylla—Sif's pegasus—came trotting over to eagerly claim the bunches of grass garnished with berries, which Sif offered in each flattened palm. Her hands were licked clean in an instant and she then presented two buckets full of the same delicacy. The brisk morning air quickly filled with a duet of hefty munching and happy tail swishes.

Loki righted himself into his prior sitting pose and quickly finished his breakfast before it could be interrupted again. "You must have awoken early to do all of this." He spoke between chews and swallows, abandoning all of his usual table manners.

"I awoke from a rather...vivid dream just before dawn." Sif bent over to retrieve Sleipnir's now empty bucket, the steed moving on to drink from the creek. "I couldn't fall back to sleep so I figured it wouldn't hurt to get an early start." She joined Sleipnir at the water's edge, cleaning the bucket out.

Loki rose from his makeshift bed of fur blankets and leather clothing, still wearing only his linen tunic, leather pants and silken, designer socks, which were soaked and dirty from having apparently been walked around in all night.

"What did you dream about?" Loki asked, now standing on the opposite side of Sleipnir fetching a clean pair of socks from his pack.

Sif looked up at him, surprised he would ask. "I only remember bits and pieces now."

"Tell me," Loki insisted.

She stood up, shaking excess water from the bucket. "Fenrir was in it." Loki eyes lit up. "He was...chanting. And there was this big storm creating massive waves in the lake." She laughed a little as she tied the bucket to Sleipnir's saddle, her dream sounding ridiculous now that it was put into words.

"What else?" Loki pressed.

Sif dropped her smile, her brow furrowing as Loki's humorless eyes impaled her. "There was an ever-present cackling." She squinted as she recalled the details. "The voice was that of a young girl's."

Loki's eyes glossed over as he worked his mind intensely. He then returned to his bed, urgently, peeling off his dirty socks with a couple unbalanced hops and hastily strapping on his jerkin, buckling only the needed straps to keep it on his body.

Sif shook her head and shrugged. It was still too early to try and translate Lokisms. She retrieved the second bucket for cleaning, Fylla bobbing her head gratefully at her, stretching her wings in satisfaction of a full belly. Sif gave her muzzle a brief stroke before returning to the stream.

Loki was upon her again, kneeling at her crouching side, with that same adamant stare. "Anything else? Were we in it?"

Sif gave him an odd look. "What does it matter?"

"Tell me." Loki wouldn't let up.

"Yes." Sif raised her voice. "Probably. I know I was there watching it all happen."

"What about me?" He glanced down briefly to buckle his boots.

Sif shook her head slightly. "Loki, it was just a dream." She finished cleaning the bucket and rose to shake it out. Loki rose with her.

"It's never just a dream." His voice cracked.

"You're starting to sound like Eir." She turned to head for the campsite. "She's forever trying to analyze and interpre—"

Loki spun her back around and grabbed her arms tightly. "You must tell me. What was my role?"

"Back off!" She tore out of his grip and shoved him back a pace. "I don't know your role. I don't remember seeing you all at!"

Loki just stood, staring, looking victimized and not speaking a word.

Sif sighed, her conscience now pinging her. She didn't have to shove him that hard. She tore her gaze away and began repositioning her layered silver shoulder armor, which his grip had shifted.

Loki turned away, crouching down and to began rolling up his fur blankets. Sif couldn't read him, couldn't fully see his face as he rolled his bedding up into neat and compact bundles. She wasn't entirely sure what just happened between them or what she should say next, but she had to say something.

"What happened to you?" Sif finally spoke, her voice softer than before. "In that...cheetah space. What did they do to you?"

Loki blinked, stalling his movements and flattening his mouth into an almost smile. "I think you mean Chitauri Space."

"Whatever." Sif rolled her eyes.

"Do you even know what a cheetah is?" Loki laughed, looking over at her.

"I don't care, Loki. Talk to me." His moods were like a damned pendulum.

Loki's smile slowly backed down. He stood up and strapped his bedding onto Sleipnir's pack. "What did Thor tell you?"

"He said they they hurt you. Threatened you. Forced you to wage war on Midgard."

Loki lowered his gaze, thoughtfully. "That would be an easier truth for Asgard to swallow." His voice darkened. "That their prince was compromised by outside forces, and not by my own alleged family."

Sif studied him, particularly the creases that formed around his eyes when he geared up to tell the truth. "What really happened?" she asked.

Loki straightened his posture and lifted his chin, prepping himself for memories of...what?

"The alliance was my idea." He spoke with an unexpected pride. "I made them need me. They possessed the power of the tesseract, but I was the one in control. I chose to be a war lord rather than a prisoner."

Sif shook her head, wincing. Sometimes she wondered if she even wanted to hear his truths. "You didn't have to be either. Frigga had found you. Thor, all of us, we would have come for you."

"You would have been fools to involve yourself with them. You have no idea the power they wield." Loki's tone then lifted to something dry and sarcastic. "But your sentiment is noted."

"Do you even care that Thor still loves you?" Sif spat, unamused. "After all you've done to hurt him, after all the counter arguments he gets from his friends, both of Asgard and Midgard, he still has hope for you."

"Yes," Loki rolled his eyes, "he's told me."

"Does that mean nothing to you?"

Loki dropped his gaze to his hands, his thumb repeatedly smoothing over a strap on the saddle. That was a telltale sign that Sif was finally going to get the answers she wanted. That thumb in particular always went into fidget mode when the guarded prince was confronted with feelings he didn't want.

Sif intended to squeeze this moment for all that she could. "Say something."

She watched intently as Loki stilled his hand, knowing he gave himself away with its involuntary action. He kept his gaze down, balling his hand into a fist, his lips pinching then spreading into that wide grin, then pinching again, tighter than before. He seemed to be building up the courage to speak.

"Do you..." When he spoke, it was soft, and oddly timid. He lifted his eyes to meet hers, putting a glinting vulnerability on full display, solely for her. "Do you have hope for me?"

Sif felt each and every one of her internal organs flutter, some in unison, some taking turns, and some flat out battling each other out of utter disbelief. Even while vulnerable, he could catch her off guard, turn the conversation on its head, and just completely force her into a position she wasn't ready to be in. It wasn't at all a new question to her, but it was one she always asked herself in the privacy of her own mind, where she could make up answers that suited her mood and deny the ones that came with the Trojan horse of hope.

How dare he. How dare he put her in this position. To speak the plain truth. To expose her own weaknesses. Oh, why couldn't words be delivered with the swing of a sword.

She breathed deeply and walked a few steps toward him, meeting his gaze with a reserved tenderness. "I'm here aren't I?"

Loki smiled, softy, gradually. They lingered with locked gazes for a stretched moment until Loki moved, closing the distance between them. Without hesitation, he brushed the backs of his fingers over her hairline then placed a sweet kiss on her cheek. She inhaled sharply. The kiss was brief but long enough to savor the contrast of his cool lips with his warm breath. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out as the moment was already over, ending too soon. "Thank you," was all he said.

"We should get moving," was Sif's fumbling response, turning to hide the pink that was heating her cheeks. She flinched, cursing internally. She could have just said 'you're welcome.'

Or she could have kissed him back.


	7. Loki's Brood, Pt 2

A/N: They finally meet Fenrir and nothing goes down the way anyone could have predicted. But that's only the start of Loki's plan.

Warning: If violence against animals bothers you, do not read this chapter, or at least skip over the cave scene. I included all the gory details from the myths about Fenrir's exile. It's very, very dark.

* * *

They arrived at Lyngvi, Fenrir's fabled isle, which was seated lonely amid Lake Amsvartnir. Loki had created an ice bridge that Sleipnir could cross and Fylla had simply flown Sif over the expanse of water.

They dismounted and led their steeds to a row of wind blown deciduous trees that lined the inner woods. "We'll leave them here," Loki said, patting Sleipnir on the neck. "The ground is uneven, full of jagged rocks. Their hooves cannot take it."

Sif nodded, rubbing her hand beneath Fylla's strong, folded wing. "Look after each other, okay?" She looked deep into the creature's eyes, soulful black jewels set in sleek white fur. "We'll be back shortly."

Sif honestly didn't know how long this meeting would take, but time was irrelevant to Fylla when there was an entire island full of edible grasses. For all the animal cared, Sif could take all week.

Loki led the way deeper into the island and Sif followed closely behind, eager to get this meeting underway. With each footstep that crunched the dried leaves beneath them, her anticipation grew wilder. Her instincts were trying to suit her with a healthy layer of fear, but she ignored them, the same way she ignored them when she lept full boar onto the Destroyer's back, or when she took on six marauders at once. One cursed, and probably very begrudged wolf was hardly enough to prickle the hairs of a great warrior's neck.

Yet, upon approaching the cave, a sinister portal that marked the entrance of Fenrir's prison, Sif felt her neck hair raise in utter defiance of her reputable and formidable fearlessness. She lifted her chin in response.

"Scared?" Loki looked over his shoulder.

"I don't get scared." Sif stepped up next to him.

Loki beheld her with a look that concerned her, but she couldn't pinpoint why exactly. She squinted at him. "What if I told you that I was?" he said. "I have no idea what to expect." His shoulders inched up in a small shrug, playing at innocence.

Sif blinked. "But you said he would talk." She then argued. "That I could ask him anything."

"I say a lot of things to get what I want." That was his defense, complete with lopsided smile. She could have gutted him. He then turned and took the first step into the cave, the shadows immediately and almost completely engulfing him.

Sif promptly followed, her frustration now stronger than her fear of the unknown. "You bastard. You tricked me into coming here with you." Her voice echoed down the black narrow corridor.

"Shhhh, not so loud," Loki whispered. "I did not want to trick you. I just...didn't want to come here alone."

"So," Sif grabbed Loki's arm, spinning him. "The whole 'ask him whatever you want' deal isn't going to happen?"

"It's highly unlikely." Loki shrugged a single shoulder. "I don't imagine he'll be much in a talking mood."

Sif threw her arms up. "Wonderful." The entire reason for the trip just tossed out with the swine slop. "So what happens now?"

"Truthfully, I do not know." Loki didn't appear to care about Sif's frustration, too caught up in his own thoughts. "In your dream he was chanting. But whether that is an incantation or sheer madness..."

"An incantation..." Sif didn't like the idea of that. "Is he a sorcerer, like you?" If that was the case, Sif now had one more reason to call this whole thing off. She didn't like enclosed spaces. She hated fighting magic, and she especially didn't want to deal with both at the same time.

"He does not wield magic like I do, but he is not without it," Loki explained. "He was conceived with dark magic. That is why he is cursed. I..." Shame had crept stealthily into Loki's voice. "Well let's just say I've learned a great deal more about magic since then."

'Conceived. With dark magic.' That was not, by any measure, what Sif wanted to hear, for multiple reasons. "By the Great Tree, Loki." She breathed deeply, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Please tell me there was no magic present during Ollie's conception."

Loki's expression lightened. "There was magic." He then smirked, sweetly, something only he could pull off. "It just wasn't born of a spell."

It took a moment for Sif to figure out what he meant. When it finally landed, she couldn't decide whether she wanted to punch him or strangle him. She sighed. "That was smooth."

"You like that one?" His smile broadened. He didn't know when to stop.

She couldn't help but smile in response. She nodded, regretfully then gestured to the dark path ahead of them. "Shall we press on?"

"We shall." Loki turned to survey their path, finding not a trace of light to guide them. "Once we can see." He then cupped his hands together, as if he just caught a bug in slow motion, and stared intently at them. Sif watched curiously as a moment later, green light began to leak from between his fingers. When he opened his hands, there was a levitating globe of green light, like a firefly, only brighter and steadier in its movement. It illuminated the space around them, sending frightened creatures skittering along the walls.

He pressed forward and the globe followed, hovering just above him.

"Why do you think Fenrir was chanting in my dream?" Sif had to ask, even though she still believed her dream was no more than a purge from her exhausted mind.

"I can't quite say." Loki replied.

"Well," Sif pushed, needing more. "What _can _you say?"

There was a pause, which meant Loki had something worthwhile to say.

"He will be angry," Loki confessed. "He has every right to be. But if he has gone mad," Loki then turned a fearful, green lit gaze to Sif, "we need to be prepared for the worst."

Sif simply glared at Loki, drawing her sword. She could handle angry. "We have nothing to fear."

They journeyed further down into unknown depths, the cave's circumference shrinking as they went until their heads nearly grazed the ceiling. The skittering lizards that had been avoiding their light were now resigning themselves to watch curiously, that is until Loki impaled one with a dagger. It shrieked and the others fled the scene.

"What are you doing?" Sif whispered.

"He will be hungry," Loki said.

Sif jumped as a sudden spell-born sheet of ice ripped down the cave walls, freezing multiple creatures in place.

Loki spoke as if shooting out deadly ice spells was no big thing. "His appetite exceeds even Volstagg's."

"That's...," Sif blinked. "Impressive."

"Gather those up," Loki directed. "We'll present them as a peace offering."

Sif broke the ice with her elbow and cringed as several limp bodies dropped to the ground. She crouched down, shaking her head and feeling her breakfast dare to surface as she skewered multiple dead lizards onto her own dagger. "You owe me big time for this. I'm talking golden swords, jeweled armor, a proper set of skis for Ollie..."

"Quiet!" Loki ordered, squatting down next to her. "Do you hear that?"

Sif stilled her movements and listened, carefully, past the steady sound of dripping water, past the wind whistling through narrowing spaces. And then she heard it. Heard _him._

_The sound of cat's paw. A woman's beard.  
The roots of a mountain. The sinews of a bear._

"Is that...?" Sif whispered, at a loss.

"He's chanting," Loki cut in with a dark voice.

_The breath of a fish. Spittle of the birds._

"Come on." Loki crept down the path and Sif followed, fighting back fear and feeling utterly removed from her element.

Had her dream truly been a prophesy?

The passageway opened up into a large but enclosed space, ceiling covered with dripping stalactites, a stream cutting down the middle. Everything was illuminated unnaturally by an odd gold light, which shown from behind a large mound in the middle of the cavern, a large, black, wiry-furred mound. That was him. That was Fenrir.

Loki straightened as he stepped into the cavern, hesitantly, and beheld his offspring, the beast's heap of a body rising and falling dramatically with each breath. Loki took a deep breath himself. He then held his arm out to Sif, signaling her to stay back, his eyes shifting with emotions Sif couldn't name. She nodded in response. Once Loki turned away from her, she readied her hand over the hilt of her sword.

Loki moved slowly toward the beast, purposely making his footsteps heard so as not to alarm him. "Fenrir. It is your father, Loki."

Not Loki of Asgard. Just Loki, Sif noted, figuring the beast cared not to be reminded of the place he once lived, where he was allowed to roam free. Why else would Loki break form and introduce himself so humbly.

Fenrir stirred. There was a deep moaning growl that came from the pit of him as he pulled each leg underneath his body and began shifting the weight from his mass to his paws. He actually started to look like a wolf then, his tail peaking out from behind. The last thing to shift was his head.

"Fenrir?" Loki took a brave step closer.

Finally, the beast turned its head and neither Sif or Loki could have prepared themselves for what they saw. For the cavern's light came not from a crack in the wall where the sun could leak in, but from the wolf's very mouth, which was gruesomely propped open with an enchanted Asgardian sword, the tip stabbing into the roof of his mouth.

The stream flowing through the cave was over a dozen years worth of hunger-born drool. Sif covered her mouth to keep from making a sound, and Loki could only gape, horrified.

"What did they..." Loki reached out to the sword, which glowed and crackled with a spiraling golden spell, Odin's spell. "How could he..." He stepped closer to inspect the spell, but Fenrir recoiled violently.

"Please," Loki whispered. "Let me look at it. I would never hurt you." Loki reached out again, but again Fenrir pulled away.

"Please!" Loki now begged, forcefully, keeping his hand stretched out. "I only want to help."

Fenrir took a breath in through his nose. When he spoke, it was unlike any voice Sif had heard. It filled the enclosed space with a thrumming, heart stopping resonation. "Father..." The voice didn't come from his mouth but seemed to bleed from his very being.

"I am here." Loki's voice was pained. Sif couldn't imagine what he must be feeling; tried not to think about how she would feel if Ollerus was a victim to even a fraction of this torture.

Loki raised his hand and touched the sword, allowing the guardian spell to shock him. It caused him to double over, grabbing his assaulted hand, but he didn't back away. He needed only a moment to recover. When he lifted his head again, his eyes were lit with revelation, hope even.

"I can undo this," he said.

Fenrir began chanting again. "Sound of cat's paw. A woman's beard..."

Loki turned to look at Sif and signaled her to come over. She did so, never one to back away from a challenge, yet still approaching hesitantly.

At the sight of Sif, Fenrir jerked his body up, roaring and thrashing as much as his fetters would allow, his blood red eyes bulging in fear, his drool flinging out wildly. Sif halted her approach, but drew her sword, heart racing the way it does on the front line.

"Asgardian!" The wolf cried, with warning, as if Loki wasn't aware of her presence. "She has followed you here, Father."

Loki held his arms up in a placating gesture and cried out over the din. "She's not here to hurt you! She is my ally. We came together, to help you."

"How..." Fenrir ceased the thrashing but still stood in an attack stance, despite how it tightened the enchanted ribbon around his neck, "can you trust one of them? After what they did to me. To our entire family."

"The Lady Sif had nothing to do with that," Loki's assured. "That was Odin. And his cronies!" Loki paused to keep from getting worked up. "I can break Odin's spell on the sword, but I need her help."

Sif squinted, not ready to involve herself until she had the details.

"My magic can weaken Odin's enchantment," Loki continued, "but I need her strength and sword to break it."

Now breaking something with her sword, she could do.

Loki turned to Sif. "I trust your aim to hit only the sword, and not his mouth?"

"You trust wisely," Sif replied confidently, meeting Fenrir's impaling gaze with both strength and sympathy.

Fenrir took several deep breaths, his fetters gaining slack on each exhale, the moment stretching. Finally he spoke. "You may proceed, but do not presume to have my trust, Asgardian."

Without hesitation, Loki closed the gap between himself and the beast's mouth, unfazed by the drool he stepped in. His hands began a peculiar and beautiful dance, and from them drifted his signature swirling green magic.

"Come here, Sif," Loki said without breaking focus. She approached slowly, captivated by the intrusion of Loki's magic over that of Odin's, the green ribbons weaving and taunting around the white hot crackling gold. Sif remembered what Loki had said about Odin's spells weakening while he slept the Odinsleep, and she concluded that was the only reason Loki believed they could break this one.

As Sif drew closer, Fenrir tensed up. When she reached Loki's side, Fenrir jerked up with a roar, breaking Loki's spell which caused Odin's spell to fight back with a jolt to Loki's body. He hollered and staggered back, clutching his chest. He would have fallen if Sif hadn't caught him, wrapping a strong arm across his torso.

"My son..." Loki forced patient words through gritted teeth. "Please don't do that again."

Sif's eyes were locked on Fenrir, her sword drawn and shielding Loki. Fenrir stared back at her, a wordless showdown. That is until Sif spoke, fearless. "If you hurt him again, I will not hesitate to strike."

"That's no way to make friends now is it, Sif?" Loki teased, weakly, forcing her hand down that gripped the sword. His hand was strangely warm, perhaps from the magic? He found his footing again and Sif released her hold on him. He turned to her, speaking only to her. "But I appreciate the gesture."

Sif glanced only briefly at Loki eyes, which were merely a breath away, before looking back to Fenrir, noting that nothing was escaping Fenrir's attention. That could be the reason the wolf was relaxing again. Perhaps he found just enough trust in someone willing to fight for Loki.

Loki began his incantation again, the second time around going quicker since he had done it before. Again, his magic infiltrated Odin's, and the golden spell sparked and crackled defensively. Loki grit his teeth and planted his feet into the ground, pushing with the same might as Sif had used in the past against pressing axes of lumbering foes.

"Ready your sword," Loki strained, sweat beading his brow. Sif followed his order. "On my signal, I want you to slice with all your might. Try to cut it in one attempt."

Sif readied her sword, gripping the hilt with both hands. "Is there any other way to cut?" Her eyes must have glinted something devilish because Fenrir narrowed his at her.

"Ready..." Loki looked like he was on the breach of collapse, veins bulging everywhere, sweat covering his face. "Now!"

Sif lunged in as Loki fell away, her steel clashing brilliantly with the offending sword, slicing it in half as intended. Its two pieces went flying in opposite directions. Fenrir roared wildly, freely. Odin's residual spell struck aggressively down Sif's sword, electrifying her hands and forcing her to drop her weapon.

She stood, in shock, barely maintaining her balance, flexing her hands open and shut to work out the lingering gold sparks. She hated the feel of magic, so alien and unpredictable, and it stung. She vaguely saw in her peripheral Loki scrambling to his feet and felt his hands grab her and pull her back. The sudden jerk to her body pulled her back into the moment and she gasped at the sight of dripping jaws coming at her.

"Stop!" Loki shouted, shielding Sif with his body. Fenrir's nose halted just shy of Loki's chest, whether by will or because his chain held him back was anyone's guess.

Fenrir now stood on four strong legs, repeatedly opening and closing his mouth, working neglected muscles, mimicking the act of chewing. "Hungry," he spoke with gravelly murmur, the voice still not coming from his mouth.

Loki turned to Sif and gestured that she hand something over. She knew exactly what he meant and dove into her belt pouch, retrieving several dead lizards, which Loki took hastily and offered to the living jaws. A mighty tongue swiped them from Loki's hands and pulled them into a seemingly insatiable abyss.

"That isn't enough," Fenrir growled.

"We can get more," Loki offered.

"No!" The wolf's voice shook the cavern, causing dust and pebbles to fall from the ceiling. "It will never be enough until Gleipnir is broken."

Gleipnir, Sif recalled, was the name given to the enchanted ribbon binding the wolf down. She had only ever heard stories, none of which reflected the horrors of what she was witnessing here: the cold, cruel acts of her own people.

"I-I cannot break the binding," Loki stuttered, his voice cracking.

"Try," Fenrir pressed, his mouth still close enough to feel his breath.

Loki stepped to the side of Fenrir's head and held his hand out, illuminating a thin sparkling ribbon that wrapped tightly around the thick, furry neck. Gleipnir was only visible under the touch of magic.

"It is wound too tightly around your neck," Loki said in a defeated voice. "To even try to break it will put your life at risk."

Fenrir turned his head to his father and bowed it slightly. "I am already dead."

Loki winced, his creased eyes pushing back tears. He then lifted his hand to stroke the dense fur on Fenrir's cheek. The beast didn't pull away. "I am so sorry," Loki whispered. Fenrir responded with a deep, almost grateful groan. "But I will not put your life at risk."

Fenrir jerked his head from Loki's touch. "Then you are no better than your father who bound me here!"

"He is not my father!" Loki retaliated in a voice harsher than he probably intended. The beast clearly knew how to push his father's buttons as a tactic to get what he wanted, a trait no doubt taught by father to son.

"I will not risk killing you," Loki continued, lowering his volume, "because it is your destiny to slay the All-Father. I will not take that from you."

Fenrir narrowed his eyes at Loki. There was a long pause before he did anything else, and then a row of prickled fur lowered on his back. "How much longer must I be bound?"

Loki's eyes narrowed. "I do not know. Only Odin can break Gleipnir. When he awakens, which I am of mind to believe he will soon since we have disrupted his spell, I promise you, I will do everything in my power to free you."

"You promise..." Fenrir was not satisfied by that. "And I am to trust your infamous tongue? To build hope on empty words?"

"What must I do to earn your trust again?" Loki whispered.

"Feed me," Fenrir replied on an exhale.

"I will bring you more animals at once," offered Loki.

"No!" Fenrir raised his voice and turned a chilling gaze to Sif. "I want her."

Loki stepped urgently into Fenrir's line of sight. "That is not an option!"

"She is pure Aesir blood, like Tyr." The wolf licked his teeth. "A hand is only an appetizer."

"I will bring you the rest of Tyr!"

"Loki, no!" Sif finally had to intervene. She would not let Loki sacrifice a good man to this cause.

"Tyr is not here," Fenrir continued, pushing Loki aside with his nose so he could get a full view of Sif. "She is."

Sif assumed a battle stance, readying herself to make a dive at her sword, which was merely a stone's throw away. "If he dares attack me, I will defend myself."

Frustrated, Loki retrieved Sif's sword and threw it toward the cavern's entrance. Sif glared at him. "That won't be necessary," Loki said. He then moved to Sif's side, urging her in the direction of her sword. "Go," he whispered. "I will catch up to you."

She was about to argue but stalled her words upon close inspection of Loki's face. His cheeks were streaked by tears, his eyes tortured and lacking any of their usual spark, be it of mischief or hope. She reached for his cheek but he shook his head, grabbing her hand and squeezing it. "Please," he said. "Go. I will be right behind you."

He released her and turned back to Fenrir. Sif did as she was told, stopping only to pick up her sword. Once she was just far enough outside of the cavern where she couldn't be seen, she stopped. She could hear Loki speaking to Fenir, and she had to listen.

"You have my word," Loki said to the wolf, "I will do everything in my power to release you."

"What power do you even posses?" Fenrir was doubtful.

"More than I have ever possessed before." Loki's conviction was chilling.

"These are all merely words to me," said Fenrir, trying to mask to glimmer of hope that crept into his voice. "And words do not fill my belly."

"Then if my words aren't enough to assure you," Loki said, no emotion spared from his voice, "trust my love."

Sif's heart sank, and a great, dawning relief washed over her. That was it. That was the reason she was here. It was the same reason they set out on this journey in the first place, whether Loki planned it that way or not. So she could witness, first hand, a father's genuine love for his son. That despite Loki's history of betrayal, despite his crimes against loved ones and the devastation brought upon on the innocents of Midgard, at the core, Loki was—

Sif gasped as a great, icy force ripped past her, completely obliterating her train of thought and shooting up the cave's passage with a vengeance, leaving spikes of ice along the walls and her body. She shivered and patted herself clean of it. The patterns of ice on the walls were the same as Loki had used earlier to kill the lizards. That force had to be Loki!

What had just happened? She thought he was having a moment with his son. He told her to go ahead of him, that he would meet her. Something clearly didn't go according to plan.

Sif didn't waste any more time questioning and immediately launched herself in pursuit of Loki, pushing off the cave walls for momentum, crunching ice beneath her boots and slipping every few steps, but recovering quickly. She was guided by the faint speck of light that signaled the cave's entrance and barely illuminated the glassy ice.

Finally she reached the outside but there was no Loki. She took a moment to catch her breath and noticed a dark layer of clouds that hadn't been there before. The skies had been crystal clear when they entered the cave. She began to recall her dream and the storm front that had been present in it, but she couldn't dwell on it long, for before her, was more ice. An entire bridge of it, stretching down to the distant beach below, completely bypassing the hiking trail they had taken to reach the cave.

Sif was so confused. So frustrated. She squinted to try and make out Loki's form on the beach, but couldn't see through an encroaching fog. All of this sudden weather, it had to be him. Had to be his magic. What the Hel was going on!? She needed to get down to that beach now!

She was tempted to call for Fylla but ruled that out for fear of the changing weather. Fylla couldn't fly with wet wings. Trekking back down the trail would take far too long, so there was only one option. Sif gathered her courage and tested the ice bridge with one foot. It was really more of a slide than a bridge. Sturdy, but by no means safe. Ollie would love it.

She took a deep breath, deliberating no more and stepping fully onto the narrow ice passage. It creaked beneath her weight but it held, so she took another step.

And then her traction went, and the sliding began.

She had never trained for anything like this, and the more speed she picked up, the harder her heart pounded. She pictured Ollie on his ski, how he crouched low, using the strength of his legs for balance. She could do that. Her legs were strong and she had impeccable balance. Her speed picked up. Trees whizzed by. She wobbled a lot but she was doing it. And it was almost fun.

The beach started coming into view, and then she saw Loki, or at least a silhouette. It had to be Loki. She abandoned all concentration on balancing to try and make out his form, and quickly regretted that decision as one leg flew out from under her, then the other, then her rear crashed through the now melting bridge.

She hit the slope, tucking into a ball and rolling down the remainder of the hill. It wasn't very far but it was far enough when every tumble greeted her body with a bruising stone or a stabbing twig. She finally hit the sand with a thud, breath knocked from her body.

She lay there on her back, her body erupting in a symphony of aches and stings, her hair feeling like it collected half of the forest floor. One thought pounded over and over in her slowly recovering head. "I'm going to bloody murder him!"

She then heard his voice carried on the wind. She couldn't make out what he was saying, but the sheer desperation of it erased all of her ill thoughts toward him. She sprang to her feet and followed the voice, moving blindly through the ever-thickening fog. The wind picked up drastically and it began raining, a light sprinkle escalating quickly to a downpour.

Just like in her dream.

This was all too weird. And frightening. Sif had no training in dealing with anomalies in nature, and prophesies, and sorcerers with their hungry children. This is not what she signed up for when she agreed to this outing. But she pressed on regardless, following Loki's voice, which grew clearer with each step into the unknown.

Finally she could she him. He was planted on his knees in the sand, facing the lake, his arms stretching to the living waters of the lake. As she drew closer, she could see that he was conducting the rising waves, creating even more unrest in all of the chaos. His body was glowing in a green aura.

"Loki!" She called out, now only a few paces away.

He didn't seem to hear here. He kept shouting into the rain, and Sif could finally make out what he was saying.

"...heed my call! The time is now! We will have our vengeance! Come to me, my son!"

Sif slowed as she approached him, a chilling reality striking to her very core. Loki was losing his mind, completely this time. He hadn't been prepared to see his son in such a state of suffering. It must have been too much for him to bear. How could anyone prepare for that?

She stepped closer to him, still unsure if she should make her presence known to him. Would he even recognize her?

She had to at least try.

"Loki!"

Still no change. He kept shouting his insanities.

"I need your help! Your brother needs your help! I am your father, Loki of Asgard! All have felt the fury of my rage! Help me now to unleash it fully on to him that banished you! Take your vengeance! Heed my call!"

That was just about all Sif could handle of his crazy talk. And of the pelting wind and rain. It was frightening, infuriating, and maddeningly cold. And her hair was now a stringy swamp of mud and dead leaves. She wanted to go home. She wanted to hold her son. To curl up with him next to the fireplace and listen while he read from one of his favorite books.

This little field trip with Loki?...Was over.

Sif drew her shield and butted it against the back of Loki's head, hard, hoping to knock him out. He cried out painfully and fell to his hands and knees, his green glowing aura washing away in the wind.

He never fell completely though, never lost consciousness. Sometimes his strength astounded her. She had hit him really hard, hard enough to make Thor unconscious, at least for a minute. She contemplated hitting him again but scratched that idea when the storm begin to back off and the lake began to calm.

Loki remained on all fours, fingers clutching the sand, body retching with each vocalized breath. She couldn't see his face past the stringy hair falling around it, but she caught glimpses of bared, gritted teeth.

"Loki?" Sif whispered. He didn't respond. She cast aside her shield and dropped to her knees next to him, gently placing her hands on his shoulders. "Are you going to come back to me?"

Finally he began showing signs of comprehension. His breathing calmed and his body relaxed under her touch. He then reached for the back of his head and turned a wincing expression to Sif. "Ouch," he whined.

Sif burst out a laugh, washing over in relief that he was showing signs of normalcy. "Why did you hit...?" he stammered. "This isn't funny."

She shifted to face him fully, now grabbing his shoulders from the front. "Loki." She shook him a little. "What in the blazing...balls of Surtr was that?"

Loki beheld her wide-eyed, looking as bad as she felt. His skin was drained of all color and his jerkin was torn in multiple places. Perhaps his trip down the hill wasn't any easier than Sif's. His sunken eyes softened the longer he held them locked with hers. He then drifted his gaze to her hair and reached out to pull a leaf from just below her ear.

"Sif," Loki said, weakly. "What have you done to your hair?" He kept picking debris out of it.

Sif rolled her eyes and growled in frustration. "I hate you so much." She then slapped his hand away and pulled him into an embrace. "Don't ever, ever put me through something like that again."

Loki's arms didn't hesitate to wrap around her in return, and he clung to her more tightly than she was to him. Sif blinked in surprise but continued to holdhim, feeling how desperately he needed it. When was the last time he had embraced anyone? And been held in return?

"I'm here," she whispered tenderly. He buried his face in the crook of her neck and she felt him shudder. She repeatedly combed her fingers through his hair, down the length of his neck, which was tense. She pressed her cheek to his temple and they hung there, an eternal moment of need, comfort, and lingering horror of what they had witnesses in the cave.

It was quickly becoming what Sif might dare call a perfect moment, until the lake began to stir again.

"Loki..." Sif spoke, pulling away to look out over the lake. Loki paid no mind to the rising waves and pulled Sif back, cupping her cheeks in his damp hands and pressing an urgent kiss on her lips. She froze and made only one small noise of protest before kissing him back, deeply, fully, handing herself over completely. It was familiar but entirely new. Hot and cold, forceful and timid, comfortable but searching. He tasted just as he always had, mysterious and refreshing.

She was just starting to really get into it when a large wave pounded the shore and distracted her from his lips. She tore away, beholding the lake with fear.

"Loki, stop!" She ordered, meeting his gaze. One of his hands still held her cheek, and she then noticed her arms were still wrapped around his neck.

"It's not me," he said softly, innocently. He brushed his fingers one last time through her hair before making to stand. She stood with him. They helped each other up.

"Loki..." Sif was now pleading, shifting her hard gaze between him and the raging lake. "Tell me what is going on!"

"He's here," Loki said with a glint in his eye, his arms still holding onto Sif's for support.

Sif shook her head, at a loss. "Who is?"

"Jormungand. My son." Loki looked fondly at the lake as another wave crashed down. "He's taking me to my daughter."

"Hel? In Niefelheim!?" Sif couldn't believe what she was hearing. She grabbed his arms tighter. "Loki, you are not well."

"This has to happen." Loki looked at her with a gaze that was completely contrary to her accusations on his wellness. He was more collected than she was. "For Fenrir. For me. For all of us."

"But it's Niefelheim," she argue meekly. "You'll die."

"I won't die," he said. "I have connections."

She couldn't argue with him. She knew she would lose. She could only shake her head in both confusion and painful realization. "You planned all of this, didn't you." Another wave crashed around them. "Bringing me along, summoning this storm...this is all part of your plan to...what?"

Loki smiled. "I didn't plan the kiss."

"Answer my question." She wouldn't let him charm his way out of this one. "Why do you need me? And how does Ollie fit into it?"

Loki closed a little of the distance between them. "It's really quite simple, Sif." His hands found her cheeks again and he stroked them with the backs of his fingers. His touch was so welcome, reason be damned. Maybe it was okay to let him charm, a little, while he explained himself. "I only want my family close to me." He placed a small kiss on her cheek. "My real family." Then he kissed her forehead. "My future. They're all that I have left."

Sif closed her eyes and breathed him in, hoping beyond reason that was the truth. "How long will you be gone?" she asked, breathily.

"Hard to say." His voice found a little edge. "Depends on my daughter's mood."

Sif opened her eyes and immediately found his. She still had so many questions but she could sense their time was running short. "What about the throne? What about Odin? I will not lie for you—"

"Don't worry about it," he cut in, his voice calm. "I have it covered. Go back to Glasir. Be with your son."

"Our son," she whispered against his lips, which she felt stretch into a smile. She then kissed him, weaving one hand through his hair and snaking the other behind his back. He mewled deeply into her and she pressed the whole of her body to his. He was everything she shouldn't want. He was a traitor. He was a criminal. He was self serving and power hungry. But somehow, through all the lies and insanity, he was proving himself to be a pretty decent father.

And let's not leave out that he was an immaculate kisser. By the might of all the gods, she could have swallowed him whole.

But instead she broke this kiss, and awaited his next move. She still couldn't quite pull from the embrace though.

"You will know when I have returned," he spoke against her ear. He then touched his forehead to hers before slipping out of her hold and moving past her. She felt instantly chilled.

As if on cue, Sleipnir came trotting up to Loki. Fylla could be seen further in from the shore, not daring go near the crashing waves. Loki stroked the muzzle of the steed then patted his neck. "Look after him while I'm gone," he called out to Sif.

She then watched him turn from the horse and wade out into the furious lake.

"What are you doing?" Sif threw her arms up. She didn't know how much more of this she could take.

Loki didn't say anything, just smiled over his shoulder and lifted his arms in the air. He now stood waist deep in the water, which crashed mercilessly around him.

Sif was about ready to go in after him, concluding he truly had lost it, but she stopped when the lake erupted with a giant, reptilian head rising high on a thick scaly neck. She gasped and nearly lost her footing. The creature appeared right in front of Loki, who didn't even flinch. Sif could then only watch helplessly as the beast unhinged its mighty jaws and unleashed a whip-like tongue. It shot straight out, wrapping several times around Loki's torso and yanking him into the depths of his mouth.

It plunged back into the lake, sending one final wave hurdling onto shore, crashing into Sif's weakening legs, causing her to fall to her knees. The lake then calmed as if nothing happened, an almost insulting gesture. How could anyone be calm at a time like this?

Then, when Sif truly believed nothing else could surprise her, she was proven wrong again as an ice bridge formed across the lake, bridging island to mainland, and Sleipnir helped himself to it, trotting across, happy to play along with Daddy's precious little plan.

Sif dropped her gaze and her hands into the shallow wake, wet sand quickly filling around her fingers and knees. She thought she even heard herself laugh, briefly. She could still taste him on her lips.

What. What had she gotten herself into?

* * *

Accompanying song, The Bottom Line by Depeche Mode


	8. Blue Jean Baby King

A/N: Darcy has a cameo and takes us away from Sif's pov for a while. Enter Thor stage left. Sif is still ready to pull her hair out. Heimdall is kind of an ass for no reason other than forwarding the plot, and Volstagg and Fandral are still adorable. Also, more Ollie. And Eir. ALL THE CAST.

Props to anyone who can name the song whose lyrics inspired this chapter's title. Hint: I'm a shameless retro music pimp.

* * *

"I still don't understand why you must obtain a new one," Thor pondered, strolling alongside Darcy as they navigated through crowds of holiday shoppers. Well, Darcy had to navigate, avoiding the bumping elbows of bag laden people. Thor just seemed to part the seas wherever he went, and he wasn't even watching where he was going, too engrossed in Darcy's malfunctioning GPS device. The idiot was enamored by it. Said its voice reminded him of Jane, whose company they had just left a mere minutes ago.

"She works fine," he beamed. "Listen."

"Buckingham Palace will be on your left in fifty feet," Siri—the miniature computer in Thor's grasp—informed in that oh-so-happy-to-oblige monotone.

Darcy sighed. "We're not in England anymore, doofus. And that's _Parfait_ Palace on the left, not..." she trailed off, giving up. She didn't even know why she bothered explaining anymore. Thor had barely been acknowledging her presence since she gave him the GPS as a joke gift.

Siri went on, totally uncaring to Darcy's frustration. The little computerized dame was probably just as taken as any human female would be if held that close to Thor's arms. "You are now arriving at Billy's Adult Arcade and Skee Ball."

"See?" Darcy argued. "Your new girlfriend's lost her mind. She can't even connect to the web. She just spits out stuff in her memory...which means..." Darcy narrowed her eyes at Thor. His face was mostly hidden beneath the brim of a baseball cap and by the golden locks falling forward in his face. As annoying as it was to be second most interesting to a malfunctioning computer, Darcy was at least grateful his downcast focus was hiding his identity from the public. She hated having to rescue him from drooling teenyboppers.

What she didn't hate, however, was that she, of all the small town nobodies of this world, got to be the one to taser him. That she was chosen by the gods, on that pivotal night in the desert, to be there when Jane ran him over. Thor's coming had changed her life forever, which had been in desperate need of changing ever since she decided to major in political science. He was a true hero.

But still, as much as she loved the oaf, he could also drive her really fucking banana-balls at times.

"Which means," Darcy continued, "somebody actually went to Billy's?" She now beheld Thor with a look of disgust. "You realize that place decorates with the skeevy bodily fluids of dirty old men?"

"I was in a gaming mood," Thor boomed without remorse, looking up at her. "And I am an adult."

That was debatable. "It's not that kind of arcade, dummy!" Darcy flailed her arms.

Thor just blinked innocently at her. "Are you telling me Skee Ball is not a game?"

"Whatever. It's Jane's problem, not mine." Darcy washed her hands of the matter, and hoped to the gods (or Thor's ancestors or whoever) that Thor had washed his hands, literally, of that place. "What are you going to get her for Christmas?"

Thor actually tore his attention away from Siri, probably at the mention of Jane. Or perhaps it was the Victoria's Secret window he was now ogling.

"Wow." Darcy gaped at him. "Can you not be a perv for like, two seconds?"

Thor tilted his head and gazed awestruck at a sheer red nothing trimmed with white marabou feathers. It was draped loosely on a mannequin in desperate need of a sandwich. And a head. "Jane would look very pretty in that," Thor stated.

"Well duh, Casanova." Darcy rolled her eyes. "But did you ever stop to think that's a gift _she_ should get _you_, not the other way around?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Darcy. I would never wear a frock like that." Thor stepped eagerly into the boutique, braving the stank cloud of cheap perfumes. He immediately caught the eyes of several young and predatory employees, but he didn't see them. Just beheld racks of lace and sequined crap with satisfaction. "Fandral would approve of this place as a gift haven for the fairer sex."

Darcy grabbed Thor's arm and tugged him out of the store, just before he could be swamped by over zealous 'can I help you?'s from every angle. "Yeah, well, how many dates does this Fandral get?" Darcy's voice strained as she tugged his mass. "None, right?"

She tried to ignore the inhumanely dense bicep both of her hands had wrapped around, which was shamefully hidden beneath a plaid flannel layer. No, Darcy, no. Bad imagination. This was Jane's toy, not hers.

Thor furrowed his brow and opened his mouth to argue something, but Darcy interrupted him by continuing to tug him along, distracted by the mock-up of the North Pole now in her view. She was struck by a genius plan. "Hey, wanna go get our picture taken with Santa?" she asked excitedly.

Thor let himself get dragged along but wasn't sharing in Darcy's enthusiasm. "Not particularly."

"Come on, it'll be something cute to give Jane that doesn't—" Darcy was cut off by a tinny ruckus screaming from her pocket. It was We Three Kings in the tune of gangster rap. Thor gave her an odd look. "Hang on," Darcy said, pulling the phone to her ear.

"What do you want?" Darcy barked at the phone while the Thor meandered beside her, listening curiously. "No. No. Yes. Christmas shopping with Thor. No, not the pharmacist's son, The God of Thunder. Don't worry about it." She hung up and stuffed the phone back into her pocket, making an exasperated noise.

"Who was that? Thor inquired.

"My mom." Darcy rolled her eyes. "I used to think she was just a basket case, but now I realize she's a whole, shipping container...full of...things woven from straw that are way crazier than a basket."

Darcy had no idea what she was even saying anymore so it was no wonder Thor's brain looked like it was about to spring a leak.

"Darcy." Thor gave up trying to translate her analogy and placed his hand on her shoulder, suddenly becoming all Mr. Serious. "You should show your mother more respect. For one day, before you're ready for it, she will be gone."

Darcy was not going to have this conversation right now. Instead she averted her attention to Santa's hut where a crowd had gathered around two guys in costume who were most certainly not from the North Pole. "Whoa!" She pointed in the direction of the spectacle. "Looks like your buddies are stealing Santa's spotlight."

Thor whipped his head at the scene and immediately lit up at the sight of Volstagg and Fandral. "Come on!" he commanded.

The crowds of bedraggled parents—complete with their dressed up children and pets—had shifted to line up for the Warriors Two instead of for Santa, smart phones sticking out in every direction to capture the unexpected newcomers. Thor and Darcy jogged up to the front of the line, ignoring complaints from the people they bypassed.

Volstagg stood in a face-off with the middle-aged, gaunt man dressed in padded red and white and sporting a pathetically fake beard. Both of the men crossed their arms over their bellies and sized each other up.

"Show me your contract!" said the Santa in a very not-jolly voice. "This here mall is my turf. Ask the bosses!"

Volstagg could only shake his head and look down his nose at the man, whom he towered over. "That is, by all measures, the most unimpressive girth I have ever seen on a mortal." He was about to poke the man's Poly-Fil belly but stopped when Thor exploded onto the scene.

"My friends!" The golden prince held his arms out.

"Good morrow, Odinsson!" Fandral greeted him with a manly embrace. The playboy's attention then slid quickly and curiously to Darcy. "And a warm welcome to you, fair Darcy of Lewiston." He brought her hand to his lips and placed the most charming of kisses upon it.

She laughed stupidly, face heating up. "I have an intern," she blurted before she could cross check her words. "He's a boyfriend." Fandral winked at her.

Darcy then regained her senses and eyeballed their very Asgardian outfits. "Seriously you guys, you're in a mall. How hard would it be to change into Earthling clothes?"

The pair hardly had time to defend what they believed was a very dashing and practical sense of style before security finally ditched their eggnog latte frappucinos and bustled onto the scene to get matters under control. They urged the three Asgardians to take their charades elsewhere, and Thor, knowing it was customary to oblige to Midgardians in uniform, convinced his Shakespeare-In-The-Park friends to let security escort them outside. Darcy had no choice but to follow, trying to shield her face from onlookers as she did. Galisteo was a small town. She could get a lot of crap for this.

"What brings you to Midgard, my comrades?" Thor asked the Two. The four of them now stood on the sidewalk in front of a variety store.

"It's your father," Volstagg responded in a concerned voice. "He's disappeared."

Thor's face lost all of its color, and his voice all of its mirth. "What?"

Fandral chimed in. "He has not been seen in three days." He placed a consoling hand on Thor's shoulder.

Thor's eyes fluttered as he tried to comprehend this. "When was the last time anyone saw him?"

"Some townsfolk saw him at the stables early one morning, three days ago," Fandral said. "And others claimed to see him ride out of the city with Lady Sif. We didn't bother to worry upon hearing that news, trusting Sif was keeping him company in his time of mourning. But the following evening, Sleipnir had returned to the stables and there had been no sign of the All-Father's return."

"Where is Sif?" Thor asked with urgency.

"We believe she went back to Glasir Valley," said Volstagg. "She has been spending a lot of time there."

"Have you talked to her?" said Thor.

Fandral glanced shiftily to Volstagg. "I'm...not going near the Valkyrie realm."

"Nor I." Volstagg glanced down, ashamed.

"As much as I enjoy a feisty woman," Fandral explained, "a line must be drawn."

"Enough!" Thor barked impatiently. Darcy shivered, and not from the cold. "What about Heimdall?" Thor continued. "What did he say?"

"Very little." Volstagg looked apologetically at Thor.

"This does not make any sense." Thor punched the closest thing to him, which happened to be a big plastic reindeer. It now had a big hole in its back. "Father would not simply disappear."

"Some think he may sleep again," Fandral offered, capturing Thor's attention. "The door to his bed chamber is locked and sealed with magic. No one can break it down."

"We were hoping you could," Volstagg said, eyeballing the weapon that peeked out from the draping flannel at Thor's waste . "That Mjolnir could break the spell."

Everyone stood silently for a moment, shifting questioning glances to each other while Thor processed all the new information with a spectrum of emotion.

"Wow." Darcy interjected. She hated awkward silences. "This is some heavy stuff."

Thor turned to Darcy, lightly grabbing her upper arms and laying on her the saddest set of puppy dog eyes she had ever seen. "Darcy, I have to go. Tell Jane I'm sorry."

Breaks screeched in Darcy's brain. "Whoa, whoa, time out." She made a T shape with her mittened hands. "No way, Prince Come-N-Go. You can't leave at Christmas."

"I must," Thor insisted. "Father needs me."

"At least tell her goodbye," Darcy pleaded, dreading another bout of comforting Jane over too many nights of cupcakes and Star Trek marathons.

"Explain my reasons to her, Darcy. She will understand." Thor's voice was pained and Darcy had no choice but nod in acceptance. She did so with the biggest, guilt-tripping frown possible though. Thor cupped her cheeks and place a grateful kiss on her forehead. It felt so stupidly good, in that primitive way her body liked to respond when gorgeous bohunky men slathered her in attention—which happened like, never— that she milked the moment for all it worth and threw her arms around him, pressing her cheek to his chest.

"Don't be gone long, Blondie." Darcy's voice was muffled in flannel. "You know Jane's wrath rivals even your psycho brother's." She felt Thor's body twitch and tense up. Oops. She shouldn't have said that, what with Brother Blitzen being dead and all.

"I will do what I can, good Darcy." Thor finally peeled her from his body stepped in between the Two, casting his gaze upward. "Heimdall! Take us home."

Darcy stepped back and clutched her beanie as the wind quickly picked up. She looked upward as an explosion of light split the night sky open and a freaky but familiar shaft of Beam-Me-Up-Scotty stuff overtook the three most interesting dudes in New Mexico and sucked them up into the expanse of stars. And just like that it was over. Thor was gone again.

Darcy sighed and kicked some loose gravel on the sidewalk. Here she thought today was going to end much better. That once she dropped Thor off at Jane's house (see Jane's mom's place) she was going to have a naughty and nice time with a certain sexy intern, playing Strip-Cards Against Humanity. But how could she do that now that Jane was going to be all depressed?

She turned to go into the variety store, deciding she'd better stock up on comfort foods for Jane and peppermint schnapps for herself, because that was the only way to watch endless hours of soap operas on spaceships. She stopped momentarily before entering the store, however, swearing the store had all nine big stupid plastic reindeer on display when she first walked up with the guys. She then shrugged it off and went inside.

* * *

A godly column of light dispensed three formidable Aesir into Heimdall's observatory. The golden guardian then retrieved his sword from the center fixture of the great dome, bringing its powerful spin to a slowing stop. Thor, Fandral and Volstagg passed by Heimdall with grateful nods and intent strides, aiming straight for the three horses that were stationed on the Bifrost. Heimdall furrowed his brow curiously when he saw a colorful fake deer-like creature tucked under Volstagg's arm.

Volstagg shrugged at Heimdall. "For the kids."

Heimdall shifted his attention to Thor. "Welcome home, my King."

Thor halted before mounting his horse. "King..." he echoed softly. He then turned to Heimdall. "What has happened to my father?" Thor was in such a hurry to try the might of Mjolnir on his father's enchanted bedroom door, he hadn't stopped to consider questioning Heimdall.

"He has returned to the Odinsleep." Heimdall spoke calmly.

Thor exhaled in relief but still cast a worried glance to the Two. "When did this happen?" he asked Heimdall.

"I am uncertain," replied the watcher.

"You are supposed to see everything." Thor raised his voice. "How could you miss—"

"The All-Father's power exceeds my own." Heimdall interrupted, his voice still calm, which only further frustrated Thor. "I have no control when he chooses to block my watch over him."

Thor stepped up to Heimdall, his blues eyes glistening. "He is old and grieving the loss of half of our family. Someone should have been watching him."

Heimdall merely looked past Thor with a mysterious and unacceptable coldness. "Then perhaps you should have stayed in Asgard."

Thor scowled, hurt and insulted, turning away from the god he thought his confidant and making for his horse. "Summon Lady Sif at once!" He barked the order over his shoulder. "I want her at Valaskaljf before the night is over."

"As you wish," Heimdall replied dutifully.

* * *

The gathering room at Glasir's hall of healers was warmed with a flickering glow from its grand fireplace. The hearth was constructed of the finest marble and carved masterfully with designs inspired by the many plants of the outside forest. It was the centerpiece of the large, high-ceiling room, which was usually filled during the day with apprentice healers, curled up on couches and in various nooks, reading from one of the many books that graced the towering shelves. This evening, however, saw only two beings occupying the space, cuddled around one large book, their backs leaning against the mighty hearth.

Sif sighed as her son's heat bled into her side, the color of his blue skin misleading of the warmth it absorbed from the fire . Thankfully, Ollerus didn't mind the heat the way his father had grown to, his half-Aesir body knowing to appreciate a good thing. Sif wrapped her arm around his shoulder–which was on a fast track to overtake her own in height—and combed her fingers through his golden hair.

"You fought in this Elven Civil War didn't you?" Ollerus asked, completely absorbed in the history tome flattening his lap.

"Sure did," Sif said, relaxed, leaning into the boy, her legs curled to the side. She glanced at the picture on the page, recognizing instantly the foliage of the jungles they had fought in. It immediately made her think of Loki, in ways she didn't want to think about him right now. There was nothing that couldn't make her think of Loki since he left her on Lygnvi, but she at least preferred not to focus on their...wilder of past times. Since she had returned to Glasir from their journey, not a moment had passed that she didn't worry about Loki, or wonder if she had made the right choice in helping him. She was still trying to process what had happened, what she had seen. Some mornings she would wake up hoping it had all been a dream, but that never happened. It was all very real. The magic. The monsters. The horrors.

The kiss.

Sif closed her eyes, cursing internally, not ready for another heart-sinking round of longing and regret.

"There's something I don't get," Ollerus blurted in merciful distraction.

"What's that, my love?" Sif breathed, opening her eyes again.

"If the war was between the elves, why did the Aesir get involved?"

"Because," Sif explained with very little thought, essentially parroting everything her captains had told her. "The problems on Alfheim were forcing trolls into Asgardian territory. So we went over there to fight on the side that was opposed to expanding over troll territory."

Ollerus tilted his head, his brow knitting as his mind worked. He didn't appear satisfied with Sif's answer. "But didn't the elves need to expand in order to make room for their crops, and their livelihood?" He argued. "You're basically saying you fought against innocent farmers."

Sif blinked. Was her own son trying to guilt trip her? "Innocence is lost the moment one takes up arms, be it sword or shovel." That was a quote from one of the generals, made to keep the soldiers from questioning too much.

Ollerus was not in the least appeased. "You wouldn't have had to take up arms at all if you just learned to live with trolls."

Sif laughed. "Now you're talking crazy."

"Why?" Ollerus shot back, unamused.

"Because they're trolls." Sif rolled her eyes.

"So?" Ollerus would not let up.

"Have you ever met a troll?" Sif pulled some hair from the boy's eyes and stared intently at him. "They're crude, and uncivilized and—"

"So they're different," Ollerus interrupted, auburn eyes staring back even more intently.

Sif blinked again, dumbfounded, utterly floored by her son's impressive mind. He certainly hadn't inherited it from her.

Ollie's eyes then shifted to something sadder. "Will Asgard ever allow other species to live with them?" he asked, hope creeping into his tone. "Like frost giants?"

Sif's heart plummeted. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his head, pressing a loving kiss upon it. "I believe they will, one day." She had no choice but to believe that. She couldn't let Ollerus and his father be the only ones with that hope.

Ollerus squirmed and shoved her affection away, awkwardly, and in good fun. He could only handle so much sentiment at one time. "I sure hope so." He closed the book and stood up, walking over to the shelf it came from. "What shall we read from now? he asked, putting the book away.

"Your choice, darling." He could read subjects as boring as basket weaving for all Sif cared. So long as they were here together, she was content. She just hoped he didn't put her on the spot with any more tough questions.

"Do you think my father's in any of these books?" Ollerus asked, cranking his neck up to a row of books covered in dust. Sif felt the color rush from her face and she quickly glanced to the row Ollie was staring at. One of the books was titled 'Niefelheim'.

Sif closed her eyes, wincing. "Quite possibly." Every moment she spent with Ollerus was one moment closer to the time when she would finally have to come clean with the truth about his father. There would be no avoiding it.

Fortunately, now would not be that moment, for Eir entered the room and spared Sif the backlash of her past deception.

"I just received an urgent message from Heimdall," Eir said. "Thor has returned to Gladsheim and he is requesting your presence immediately."

"My presence?" Ollerus shot a cheeky grin at Eir, who merely responded with that raise of a brow that signaled her lack of amusement.

Sif felt her heart pick up its pace at the mention of Thor. "Immediately-immediately, as in right now?" she asked.

"Yes," Eir said. Ollie's shoulders slumped. He turned from the bookshelf and laid a heart wrenching look on Sif.

Sif sank in response. "I'm sorry, my dear."

Ollerus then shook off his encroaching disappointment with a revelation. "Can I come this time? I want to meet Thor so bad!"

Sif stood up and promptly crossed the room, placing her hands on his shoulders. Her action alone answered his question and she felt him wilt a little under her touch. Oh, how it tore her up to disappoint him. "You will one day, my son."

"But not now," Ollerus murmured to the floor.

Sif lifted his chin so their eyes met. "I promise you," she gazed sincerely at him. "Things will change very soon."

Ollerus managed a small half smile. He then motioned for the door. "Go already. The prince has need of you." The boy couldn't mask the pride he felt in knowing his mom was the right hand of the mighty Thor, and hearing that pride filled Sif with an indescribable honor.

Sif kissed his cheek before leaving his precious company and meeting Eir in the doorway. She looked over her shoulder at him one last time before she and the elder left the room.

"Did you send one of your students to fetch Fylla?" Sif asked Eir as they walked briskly down the hall toward the exit.

"There was no need," replied Eir. "Heimdall will summon you."

"That urgent, huh?" Sif wondered something. "Is...Thor the only prince that has returned?"

"Yes." Eir halted at the door and pinned Sif with decisive look. "And Thor is now the king so long as Odin sleeps. Which means, in the best interest of the king, and of his decisions for Asgard, he should be told the truths of his family." Sif lifted her chin, not expecting nor wanting to be lectured right now. "Of his _entire_ family," Eir continued with irritating conviction. "His father. His brother. And his nephew."

"I know what I have to do." Sif snapped, stepping away from Eir to make room for her transport.

They didn't wish each other goodbye, simply faced-off in a silent duel of wisdom and pride before Sif was engulfed by the onslaught of ferrying light.

Sif was greeted shortly after the light dissipated around her by a similar guilt-tripping stare, this one from Heimdall's narrowing eyes.

"Thank you for the summons." Sif passed by him, keeping her resolve steady. Just because Eir and Heimdall knew all of her secrets didn't mean she had to cower before them. She would get around to revealing her truths to the appropriate people, but it was going to be on her terms. And as far as her elders were concerned, Sif knew exactly what she was doing. Even Heimdall's all-seeing gaze would not see her regret her recent outing and unexpected behavior with Loki.

She headed straight for Valaskaljf, speeding through town on the horse provided by Heimdall at the observatory. In their brief passing, he had told her to meet with the king at once but that she wouldn't find him on the throne. Thor was instead taking refuge in his personal feasting hall. It was like a clubhouse for him, the place he had always gathered in the company of those closest to him when matters pressed hard on his mind.

Sif entered the hall quietly, respectfully, and found Thor humbly seated on the two steps leading to the spanning balcony. His gaze was cast outward in vexing thought and he picked at his stubbly beard. She made her boot steps plainly heard as she approached him, and he rose instantly, greeting her with a strong, intimate hug.

"Thank you for coming," he said.

"Of course." She embraced him tightly in return. "It's good to have you back."

Thor separated their hug and held her at arm's length. His eyes were sunken, tired. "I only wish my return were under better circumstances."

She squeezed his shoulder. It was covered by an odd Midgardian cloth instead of his red cape, and upon his legs was a faded blue cotton of sorts. It fit his form very handsomely. "Everyone in Glasir mourns your loss, and we pray for the All-Father's health."

"Thank you, my friend," Thor said, his eyes scanning Sif's attire. She was dressed down as well, wearing only a red line tunic and comfortable brown breeches under her thick fur cloak, which she was rarely without during the winter months. "As you've probably heard, my father is locked behind an enchanted door which even Mjolnir is unable to break."

Sif nodded, feeling herself tense. "It is Odin's magic upon the door?"

Thor gave her a strange look. "Name another whose magic has the power to withstand the might of my hammer?"

Sif became choked by a truth desperate to get out.

"I have a question I need to ask you," Thor continued, turning to the grand table. Sif took the opportunity while his back was turned to breath deeply and attempt to collect herself. Thor started picking at some cheeses while he picked through his thoughts. "Some townsfolk claim they saw you ride out of the city with my father. And some guards tell me you met with him multiple times after I left."

Sif's heart tightened in her chest and it became hard to breath. Talk about cutting right to the chase. Was she to have any comfortable camaraderie with her dear friend before having to spill her guts with the truth?

"I can't tell you," Thor said with a mouth full of bread, "how much it means to me that you were looking out for him." He smiled sincerely over his shoulder. "And spending time with him. You are a true friend, Lady Sif."

"He...hasn't been well," Sif stammered, feeling like she dodged the first blast of cannon fire. "Y-you, said you had a question?"

"Yes." Thor closed the distance between them again, casting his gaze down to a piece of bread he held in fidgeting hands. "Sif, do you...do you think it irresponsible of me to have left for Midgard at a time when father needed me the most?

Sif felt like collapsing in relief. "I..." her mind worked quickly to change gears, knowing how hard it must have been for Thor to ask such a question. She wanted to answer as sincerely as possible, yet she didn't want to cast judgement on him. She had no right to. "I can't answer that for you."

Thor sighed, clearly ashamed of himself. "I am a fool. My heart's desires overpowered my common sense and my duty." He still couldn't make eye contact.

Sif took his chin in her fingers and lifted his heavy gaze to meet her very sincere one. "It happens to all of us."

Thor's eyes saddened. "He may still be awake if I had stayed."

"That's not true, Thor," Sif responded adamantly. This was one truth she could speak easily to him. "Don't you dare blame yourself for the Odinsleep. Your father lost nearly everything in that battle against the dark elves. Even a king can only take so much." She softened her tone. "The sleep was inevitable."

Thor now gave her a pleading look. "I needed to be with Jane, please understand. I too have suffered great loss. And Father had grown distant, insane even. It was too hard to be here."

Sif's heart split and she wanted to burst with the truth to relieve at least half of his pain, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Not yet. Curse her cowardice. "I understand. I too left Asgard. I went back to Glasir." She pulled him into a hug so she wouldn't have to look at his eyes. "I grieve too, my friend. My brother."

"Brother..." Thor echoed as he wrapped strong arms around her. "I like the sound of that."

"I do too," Sif whispered, both honored and scared by the multiple layers of calling him that.

"So what do we do now?" Thor asked after an extended and comforting moment, the pain ebbing out of his voice.

Sif could sense it was time to lighten up the mood of the room. She separated from the embrace and gathered herself with a smile. "I think you're supposed to do kingly stuff."

Thor smiled a very exhausted smile and rolled his eyes back, overwhelmed. He clearly did not want this role. Sif had to wonder if this was what Loki had intended when he said he had the responsibilities of the throne covered. By covered, had he only meant he left Asgard abandoned to discover their sleeping king then be forced to call on poor, over-burdened Thor? Some plan, Loki. He really did master the art of being a complete ass to his undeserving brother.

"What sort of kingly stuff?" Thor asked reluctantly.

Sif decided to perk things up with a little humor. "First you need to practice your stoic look, like when we play cards, only meaner." She made a charade of this, lifting her chin and drawing her mouth down in a grimace. "Like this."

Thor chuckled. "Okay." He was quick play along, trying to lose his smile and assume his father's frumpy face.

Sif moved to the table and flipped a chair around to face outward. "Next, you need to sit with really good posture, and look down your nose at all those who approach your throne." She took the seat with all the mannerisms she had just described. Thor joined in immediately, grabbing a chair and doing his best Odin impression, which was quite impressive.

"You got it!" Sif encouraged. "But don't forget, there's the gesture."

"What gesture?" Thor asked, intrigued.

"That," Sif made a quick shooing gesture with one hand, rolling her eyes as she did so, "flick of the wrist. You know. The signal that a king cannot be bothered with your trivial matter."

Thor slapped his knee with a laugh. "Of course! The dismissal flick." He then did it perfectly.

"That's it!" Sif now laughed.

"He would do that," Thor explained with a chortle, "whenever Loki and I came to him with our petty squabbles, arguing over a toy, or which one of us had grown taller, or..." His smile then faded with his story, and his shoulders slumped.

"I miss him, Sif." He shook his head, hopelessly. "I-I don't know how to mourn him a second time." Sif's smile faded too. She hadn't known how to mourn a second time either. "I know you and the Three think it better that he...died a hero, but I, I just can't..."

"I don't think that." Sif leaned over and squeezed his knee. This was another truth she could easily tell. "I miss him too, Thor. I hurt everyday."

Thor looked up at her, surprised at her confession but also finding consolation in it. He hadn't expected her to say that. Neither did she for that matter.

"It pleases me to know that the years apart, and all the crimes committed within, have not completely hardened you to him." Thor placed his hand on Sif's and offered her a grateful smile.

She was now screaming internally. Her silence dishonoring the best, noblest friend she had ever had. Sweet, trusting Thor. A constant pillar of support since her first day in boot camp. Someone she once considered for lover: a silly girl's delusion during a dark and confusing time. She would never be good enough for Thor. He deserved someone truthful. Someone untainted from years of betrayal and secrets. Someone who had the courage to finally come clean with him about everything.

Someone whose heart didn't foolishly belong to his reckless brother.

"I...try to dwell only on fond memories of him." Sif picked her words carefully. Concealing the truth was bad enough, but she refused to outright lie to Thor. "I see no reason to harbor the hurtful ones any longer."

Thor inhaled deeply, his chest so brutally weighted by his grieving. He then pulled Sif into another hug, seeking a familiar comfort. She closed her eyes and held him back, letting her arms console where her words couldn't. Sif wished she could spill the truth about Loki right now, to relieve Thor of that particular pain. But she couldn't because she didn't know what was going to happen with Loki. When or if he would even return. She couldn't get Thor's hopes up. Her hopes were already raised more than they reasonably should be. The truth could wait so long as Loki was gone. And upon his return, if it was to happen, let events play out as they will. And if he didn't return, let disappointment strike down the futile hopes of only the Lady Sif, the one deserving of it. Let Thor only be burdened now with a distantly familiar grieving, and not with fanciful illusions of a loved one redeemed.

That was Sif's burden to bear.


	9. Welcome to Hel

A/N: A few things to clear up any confusion that my integration of Norse myth may have caused. (I am very new to the myths and still learning as I go =P)

Sleipnir is indeed Loki's son. If this seems bizarre, then plug Svadilfari into a search engine. It won't make it any less bizarre but at least it'll make sense in context. ;)

Secondly, I've started referring to the major city of Asgard by its actual name, Gladsheim, rather than just Asgard. That is consistent with the myths.

Lastly, I took major creative liberties with the appearance of Hel and of Helheim's architecture. Hel's characteristics are taken from a variety of sources: Azula from Avatar (for her voice), Monster High (for her attire), and Rasputin (for her darker ambitions). Helheim is inspired by the Court of Miracles, only covered by a deep freeze. (also, something to note: two chapters back, I had Loki say he was going to Niflheim. That was wrong. He should have said Helheim. I had forgotten at the time that Helheim stood alone as its own realm.)

Okay, enough of that. On with the chapter, in which Loki has finally met his match.

* * *

Physical pain was nothing new to Loki. The many colorful experiences of his life had made him grow accustomed to it. He had no choice, really, when growing up beside a pair of very expressive fists that reacted mercilessly to each and every trick played upon their wielder, or when defending himself against onslaughts of foes on countless battlefields. Being a prisoner of a barbaric alien race would also build one's pain threshold, as would a one-on-one encounter with Midgard's Hulk. And let's not forget what giving birth to an eight-legged horse can do to a body.

Yes, physical stresses and throbbing aches typically came hand-in-hand with the Trickster Prince's plots. Such as the kinks and bruises he was feeling now as he peeled his body from the iced-caulked cobblestone and rose to stand on wobbly legs. He took it all in stride like he always did. What Loki couldn't stomach, however, was the gelatinous bile clinging to his body from head to toe, permeating his fine leathers with an ungodly odor and slicking his hair even more than normal to the back of his neck. He refused to believe such a foul substance could have come from the digestive track of something born of his own body. Jormungand must have received the heaviest dose of dark magic during his conception in order to have mutated Loki's impressive genes so extremely.

Loki shook some slime from his hands, resigning himself to accept the price one must pay for a free, living passage into Helheim, and hoped the realm had the courtesy to offer him a bath.

He cast his glance around the frozen courtyard which the monstrous serpent had deposited him in. The architecture was reminiscent of French Baroque, masterful craftsmanship (for mortals at least) rich with carved embellishments and roof peaks that reached heavenly heights. A false symbol of hope perhaps for a realm populated by the damned? It was quite an impressive setting, especially since the eaves were weighted with deadly-sharp icicles, and the mortar holding all the masonry together was also ice. The interwoven translucency of the design was a rather brilliant choice. The integration of ice allowed what little light the realm received to bleed into the nooks and crannies through warped refraction. Hel always had a flare for style, something she no-doubt inherited from her father.

The façade of Helheim changed frequently, based on its Queen's ever-changing interests and moods, but there were always elements that remained static, or so Loki had read about. In all his travels, he had never actually been here before, solely because an Aesir's trip here was typically one-way.

Fortunately he wasn't a typical Aesir.

The unchanging elements of this cursed realm were laid out above and all around the misty court. Bordering the cobblestone streets were a couple of steaming rivers, the heat from their boiling waters in perpetual combat with the neighboring ice, therefore creating the permanent layer of fog that hovered just off the ground. The both flowed from one source, the central spring, which pulled its heat from the unforgiving lava core of Muspelheim.

Loki knew if he followed the rivers to their source, he would find his daughter's throne. However, he would follow the rivers a safe distance away from their flesh-searing steam. Just because he had a high tolerance for pain, didn't mean he intentionally sought it out.

Another familiar landmark was one of primordial and eternal nature: the very roots of Yggdrasil which snaked along the cave-like ceiling of this peculiar realm. Helheim knew not the expanse of sky and the heavens the way other realms did. It only knew enclosure, darkness, and sub-zero temperatures. It was lit dimly by the flickering of flame, borrowed from Muspelhiem to offer the bare minimum of visibility without melting the ice. The Great Tree's roots were the only sign that the realm even existed beyond the tortuous memories of those life-starved souls who resided here.

The entire realm had always been widely open to speculation. It was the final resting place of all Aesir and Vanir who died of natural causes rather than valiantly at the hand of another's blade, martyrdom the ultimate act of nobility. But one had to wonder why illness and old age were undeserving of a rewarded afterlife. Was it truly a mark of poor character if one stricken by disease or lameness abstained from the front lines? Loki had always felt the system of judging the afterlife was highly biased and flawed, and once he was crowned King, that would be something to change.

He may even dare to open the gates of Valhalla to deserving giants and elves, not only for the sake of himself but for anyone worthy of an afterlife rich in culture and expansion of the mind. Segregation would only ever breed ignorance. Why not grant Midgardians passage as well? Loki had met a few deserving ones recently. That archer he enchanted, Hawkeye, was a indeed a worthy soul. There was also that Stark character, a foe Loki was still trying to wrap his mind around. That man alone could provide years of entertainment in the afterlife.

Loki refocused his thoughts as he passed under an archway, entering a tunnel that led to the royal court. His mind needed to be on his daughter. He could see the colors in the distance, of what looked like liberally draped tapestries and gold-embroidered banners. Hel was really taking full advantage of her title of Queen as far as decorating went. He would expect no less of her.

She was the least cursed of his offspring with Angrboda: the only one to maintain a bipedal form despite her fetal exposure to dark magic, and the only one Odin actually bestowed some mercy on. Granted, an eternity in the realm of the dead is still exile but at least she was able to succeed its former monarch. Odin had always claimed that was his intent for her, as if Loki should have been grateful or something. Never mind that she was only a toddler when torn away from her home with her mother in the Asgardian wilds, to be subjected to this place! And why? Because that one-eyed, short-sighted tyrant took one look at her diseased, skeletal legs and assumed the worst, warning she was compromised by dark magic and her disease would spread to the Aesir if she was left in their realm.

She was only a little girl.

Loki bristled as he continued down the tunnel, picking up his pace. The sooner he could strike this deal, the closer he would be to taking what was rightfully his from that slumbering, wash-up of a king, and undoing all of his blunders. It was an insult to Asgard to keep him on the throne after Mother's death. She was the only reason Asgard wasn't a war-torn wasteland like Svartaflheim. She had been the ever-present calm to his tempest of bloodlust, cruelty, and prideful decrees.

Even Thor would make a better king than a widowed old fool.

Loki's boiling thoughts carried him to the final archway, and he hesitated before stepping into the court. He had to collect himself. He hadn't seen Hel since she was barely taller than his knees, gazing up at him with curious and suspicious eyes. It had been her crowing day and Odin allowed her a day away from her exile to celebrate and visit her father. There were no feasts held in her honor, though, no long list of invited nobles to pay homage to their outcast Princess. It had only been a party of four who were present when Loki placed the delicate silver crown upon her raven hair and pressed a bittersweet kiss upon her forehead. The other two attendees were Mother, of course, and Thor, surprisingly. That was one action Loki could always credit Thor for.

It has been over a decade since that crowning day. Hel would be a young woman now, just slightly older than Ollerus. Loki had watched her grow over the years, his magic creating temporary windows to her world. She had flare for ruling, or at least no shame in bossing around her underlings. Her slaves were the Nybling dwarves, the only living beings in Helheim beside its Queen. But alive did not mean free. It was their duty to serve Hel, a punishment for letting their gold lust overtake their common senses.

Speaking of the little wretches, there were some of them now, emerging from the shadows of Hel's royal court. Loki's presence must have alerted them and about of dozen of their pale hairless bodies were now upon him, circling around his legs, sniffing and poking at him. The were pathetic beings, standing no taller than Loki's knees, garbed in threadbare loincloths and stripped of their prided beards. Loki would have mistaken them for goblins if he didn't know any better. If their very existence didn't discourage regular dwarves from falling into the addiction of gold lust, then Loki didn't know what could. These were the lowliest of lowly creatures.

And they kept touching him! Yanking at his clothing, pulling and shoving him toward the center of the court. Loki couldn't see through the dense mist where they were leading him, but he knew what was going on. They were guiding him to his daughter. He did not fight them.

"What in the _me_ are _you_ doing here?" came a silky and impish alto through the thinning mist.

Finally the throne came into view. It was constructed of ornately woven ice and bones, and perched upon a platform that sat just in front of the great spring which parented the two rivers. Steam rose in great billows from behind the throne, strangely not melting its ice. The Nyblings forced Loki to kneel, for upon the throne sat their queen.

Loki studied her appearance curiously as she beheld him with a narrowing eye. Her skin was as white as ever, which always baffled him since she should, by the laws of nature, wear the blue of the Jotnar. Loki could only assume Odin's masking spell upon his own skin had an effect on her genes. She wore the color very beautifully though. It was the perfect contrast to their shared raven hair, which she had styled in a 'punk rock' fashion. It was long in the front, covering half of her face, but cut short in the back. She certainly did favor Midgard as a style reference.

"Why did you interrupt JJ from sailor-haunting duty?" she asked with a hint of whining.

'JJ.' She must mean Jormungand, her brother. The two had stayed close over the years, which was fortunate for Loki. Otherwise he would've had to devise another, probably more difficult (albeit cleaner), means of passage here.

"That's my favorite thing to watch these days," Hel mused, tilting her head to glance upward. Hanging just above the throne were several viewing screens, constructed of magic and very reminiscent of the command consoles in Stark Tower and S.H.I.E.L.D.'s helicarrier. Their function was the same as simple windows to other worlds yet she designed them to look like tech from Midgard. Quite the creative one she was.

"You look well," Loki offered, rising to his feet now that the Nyblings had scattered. "Happy even."

Hel gave him the elevator eye, her expression unreadable. Upon her head was the crown he had placed there years ago, but it had grown, embellished with the skeletons of animals carved and assembled to look like giant snowflakes, the original silver woven in artfully. It was brilliant in beauty and design, and a far cry in style from what she was trying to play off as a royal gown. It looked like someone had raided Queen Victoria's closet with India ink and scissors. 'Gothic Lolita', Loki recalled, was the name given to the look. Humans did love to bastardize perfectly good art forms and redefine them with silly post modern labels.

"You look gross." Hel crinkled her nose. "And you reek horridly." She then fanned the air around. "By Surtr, JJ should see a healer about that."

"Tell me about it." Loki lifted his arms to put the extent of his grossness on display.

Hel cringed, tearing her gaze away. She then snapped her bony fingers and a small heard of her underlings came crawling out of the shadows. "Clean him up," she ordered.

The Nyblings surrounded Loki again, this time climbing onto each others shoulders in order to give their stubby little hands access to more of him. They started undoing the buckles of his jerkin and yanked off his cloak. Loki was going along with it, knowing it was ultimately leading to a cleaner state of being, until one of them went for the buckles on his breeches.

"Do you mind!" he protested, twisting his hips away from their reach.

"They really don't," Hel countered with an entertained smile. She snapped again and gestured something to a couple of the Nyblings. They hobbled off and returned quickly with a purple and gold tapestry, which they held up to shield Hel's eyes from her soon-to-be-indecent father.

The Nyblings made short work of Loki's breeches, then boots, then socks, then undergarments. The air of Helheim was cold, even on his skin, which he could feel was bluing from exposure. This was so humiliating, not at all what he had intended when wishing for a bath. He could only close his eyes an suffer through it though, hoping Hel had some cleaning spell that would make the process go quicker.

She didn't, for all of a sudden, Loki's body was blasted by an onslaught of river water. Steaming, boiling river water, transported by Hel's magic. He hollered and clenched his fists, the blue of his skin scalded away and replaced with a rare pink. He hadn't seen it that way since he was a child, when Mother's air-headed hand maidens would draw his bath too hot. Fortunately, the burn was only superficial, something his body could quickly repair. He was just going to assume Hel knew that about him rather than suspect she intended to cleanse him with third degree burns. He glanced at her over the top of the shielding tapestry, noticing that she had shifted to sit sideways on the throne, seeming entertained by all of this, her cursed legs dangling over the arm rest.

Hel's legs were the stark evidence of her curse. A horrific sight by Asgardian standards. The last time he had seen her, they were merely discolored and skinnier than normal, as if frost bitten. She had worn a long gown to hide them from the Aesir on her crowing day. But now they were worse. The skin had completely rotted off in spots, exposing fully the bones beneath. What remained of her skin was a nightmarish texture, haggard, blotchy browns and deep reds with bulging purple veins. Oddly she made no effort to cover them besides a couple pieces of fishnet stockings. She wasn't even wearing shoes, although he really couldn't blame her for that. Only one foot still had flesh on it. The other was fully skeletal. He imagined the feel of raw bone on leather would be an unpleasant one. Still, the option of a longer, more concealing skirt was always viable.

"Isn't your skirt a little on the short side?" Loki nagged as the Nyblings wiped the last of the water from his body.

Hel didn't answer, just tilted her head to look upon her skirt with pride, running her hands over its ruffles. Her legs dangled freely down the side of the throne. Loki had to admit that despite his distaste for this particular fad of hers, he was pleased to see her so carefree, so comfortable in herself.

The Nyblings then began wrapping the tapestry around him, much to his indignation. They created a toga of sorts then scampered off to avoid a very deserved wrath. Loki must have looked utterly ridiculous. He would almost rather be back in the slimed-caked stink of his leathers then be dressed like a primitive Greek.

Hel burst into laughter. "You look like you're going to a frat party!"

Loki sneered and turned his back to her, re-tying the tapestry into a simple, long wrap skirt. It was the least offensive style he could come up with. Frost Giants wore armored skirts into battle. He would just sport the look of a Jotunn...vacationing in the islands.

Hel's voice slide down from its cackling into something conversational. "You still haven't told me why you're here."

Loki turned to face her again, ringing his hair out before it froze, and attempting to reclaim his dignity. "I need your help."

Hel scoffed out a giggle. "So much faith you put in the loyalty of your neglected children."

Loki took a deep, calming breath. He had a feeling this was going to be a battle. "It was not neglect on my part that separated us."

"Right," Hel drew the word out. "One more thing to blame Daddy Odin for."

"He is not my father!" Loki blurted, instantly regretting it. He couldn't let her get to him so quickly.

Hel crossed her arms and stuck her nose in the air. "And you are not mine."

Ouch. That was a first. Loki felt a genuine hurt in those words, an emotion he could always use to his advantage. "You've let yourself become poisoned by your mother's bitterness."

Hel rolled her eyes. "Oh, you mean the truth? How you used her for her mastery of magic? How you fucked her and seeded her with your corruption."

"_My_ corruption?" Loki was aghast. "_She_ was steeped in dark magic. Chained to it like an addict. It was her mishandling that laid the curse upon you and your siblings."

"Wrong, wrong, wrong!" Hel balled her firsts and thumped her feet in alternation against the throne. "You are so deluded and dumb."

Loki blinked in suprise. He had been called many things in his life, deluded one of them for sure, but never did anyone dare call him dumb.

"It wasn't Mother's magic alone that cursed us," Hel continued. "It was _yours_. Or Odins, or...whatever it is that conceals your true nature. Don't you see?" Her voice took on a pleading tone. "Between the cocktail of magic, and your own staunch belief that you were an Aesir, our poor little embryos didn't stand a chance of normalcy with all those...twisted illusions infused into us."

Loki felt something turn in his gut. He had often wondered if his mistaken identity had played a role in the cursed conceptions, but he never wanted to analyze it thoroughly. Probably out of fear he'd learn something he didn't want to know; something else that could be tacked on the long list of how Odin's deception destroyed his legacy.

"You cannot solely blame me for the misfortune upon our family," Loki said, his tone lingering between pride and pity. "Your mother played a part. Not all of my children are cursed."

"You don't think an eight-legged horse is unusual?" Hel raised her brow.

"I'm not talking about Sleipnir." Loki held his ground. "And I would hardly call him cursed. The speed of his doubled legs made him fit for a king."

A veil of sadness fell over Hel's features. "Yes. We all know how wonderful our half-brothers are."

Loki winced. "That's not what I meant."

"No please," said Hel, "tell me all about your pretty little Valkyrie boy with his blond hair and perfect life. He came out smelling like a rose didn't he, despite being convinced he was a bastard." She began laughing. "Boy, that's some honorable dame you ditched Mother for. She doesn't even know how to tell a proper lie."

"Hela." Loki closed his eyes, calling upon his patience. "I will not play these games. Are you going to help me or not?"

"Why should I help you?" She threw her arms up. "I am the last person besides Mother that you should ever expect to help you win back the heart of that, barbarian woman."

Loki pinched the bridge of his nose. "That is not why I am here."

"Then spit it out already!" Hel barked. "Let's hear your infamous silver tongue in action."

Loki collected himself, working the kink out of his neck. He had forgotten how difficult Hel could be. "I would like your assistance in staging my...heroic return to the living world." The silver speech came in the form of truth this time, often a reliable tactic in furthering his plans. "I need Asgard to believe I went to the underworld by mistake. That I should've gone to Valhalla since I was slain by Malekith in the midst of saving my brother. And that is why I was given life again, because you, my loving daughter, took pity on me."

Hel's single eyelid fluttered, probably in disbelief. She then exploded with the most irritating assault of shrill cackling that Loki had ever heard. He cringed at her in response.

"I haven't seen," Hel managed between gut-grabbing laughs, "or heard from you in years and you come to me asking for a resurrection? Like its no big deal to break the number one rule of my queendom."

"It is not a resurrection," Loki stated. "I am not dead."

"You don't know that." Hel's face was split by a wide, cockeyed smile.

Loki made to argue but was silenced by an encroaching fear. The implication of her words muted him with a regrettable oversight. He lifted his arms into view, noting his skin was as naturally blue as it could be. Death would indeed break Odin's spell. He brought his hands to face, feeling for anything unusual, then worked his way down to his chest and arms.

"How do you know you survived the journey through JJ's bowels?" Hel added playfully. "No one else ever survives it."

"He said he wouldn't hurt me," Loki whispered, in shock, feeling an unwelcome chill course through his veins. He sank to his knees, defeated, dropping his head. How could let himself get killed? That was never part of the plan.

"I can't believe you took him at his word. Or hiss, or whatever." Hel prattled on gleefully. "You. The God of Lies, believed a snake born of your very own insincere flesh and blood."

Loki could only sit, hunched over, eyes squeezed shut, fists clenched tight enough to puncture his palms. When he spoke, each word was a hurdle. "I hadn't realized Jormungand despised me as much as you do."

There was a pause. For once, Hel didn't have some witty comeback in a holster. Loki was grateful. He needed the silence to figure out how he was going to get himself out of this mess. He only ever faked death, and avoided it. He's never had to combat it.

"I can't," Hel finally spoke. She was laughing again. "I can't do it anymore." Loki knitted his brow and lifted a baffled gaze to her. "Get off your knees you sad sack of gullible, I was only joking. JJ idolizes you. He has ever since you terrorized Midgard. He would never kill you."

Loki beheld her with disbelief, his body overcome with a contrary mix of heated rage and cooling relief. Of humiliating embarrassment and redemptive joy. Emotions he had never felt in conjunction before, and why? Because he just got Loki'd. In way that made his anger and his pride join together in a beautiful waltz. If it were anyone else that pulled this on him, they would be struck dead in an instant, but because it was his very own cunning daughter, he nearly found himself laughing along with her.

"So," Hel spoke with a promising 'let's make a deal' tone. "You think if I eject you from here, in a spectacular way that only I can do, your people will be tickled by my performance and thrilled to see their martyred prince returned to them."

Loki nodded as he rose to his feet, approving very much of the images conjured in his mind.

"And then what?" Hel continued. "They'll throw you big parties with balloons and karaoke?"

Loki smiled. "Something along those lines, yes."

Hel drummed her fingertips on the armrest while her mind worked. "What's in it for me?"

That was the inevitable question, which Loki absolutely had an answer for. "With Gladsheim no longer my enemy, and with Asgard's throne within my reach, I will be in a position to access three of the six infinity stones." Again, he offered her nothing but the truth. "With that power, I can spare you this fate. Give you a normal life."

Hel blinked, unimpressed. "What is a normal life? Feasting? Fucking? Whiling the days away in boredom while awaiting the inevitable. I'll only end up right back in here. Although, going out with a bang in battle doesn't sound so bad. I always wondered what Valhalla was like. Do you know if it has a cable?"

Loki frowned. That was the second time she used vulgar Midgardian speech. Had she no class? "Watch your mouth, young lady."

"Spare me." Hel snapped, rolling her eyes. "Of both your lectures and your pity. I don't want your help, nor do I need it."

"You must want something." Loki's voice found an edge. "Everyone always does."

Hel smiled, in a conniving way that told Loki she knew exactly what she wanted. "You're right," she said darkly. "Only what I want is not for myself." Now she had Loki's undivided attention. "I want Mother's dignity restored. And I want it in the form of revenge. _Her_ revenge."

Loki chewed the proposition over in his mind. It was one he hadn't expected but certainly one he could work with. "You wish her to slay me?" He'd like to see her try.

"Hardly!" Hel chirped. "As if you deserve admittance to Valhalla."

"Then what?" Loki was at a loss.

"I want Mother to have the honor of delivering to me your shield maiden. Conquered by the tip of a poisoned dart."

Sif. Of course, they wanted Sif. What was the saying? Hell hath no fury like woman scorned? Or in this case, Hel hath no fury like her jealous mother.

"Very well," Loki responded with no trace of emotion. This wasn't the first time he bartered the life of someone close to him. And it's not like he bound himself to his deals anyway. "Angrboda can have her petty squabble if it wins me my redemption."

Hel shook her head in pity. "Well, at least you consistently betray the mothers of your children for the sake of your ambitions. I would hate to see you break character."

Loki winced. "Enough already. Let's get on with this."

Hel was only half right. This time around he wouldn't bring suffering upon his lover. Sif would pose a formidable challenge to however Angrboda chose to come at her, and Loki would like to see her even try to take on Sif's sharp senses and deadly swordplay. He could only hope the witch wouldn't get herself killed in the process, for the sake of their children. Yes, Angrboda was demented by dark magic and apparently riddled with jealousy, but she was still mother to his offspring, and he did not wish for her to die by Sif's blade, regardless of how honorable a death that would be.

Hel swung her legs off the armrest and rose from her throne with a satisfied air. "Prepare yourself, Loki of ASSgard, for to escape the bonds of my realm you must suffer the tortures of death and the unnatural strain of resurrection." There was a glint in Hel's eye that bothered Loki. "Your body will be stripped, beaten and burned. If want your people to believe you died, you must look the part."

Loki should have expected this much. "I will do whatever is necessary," he said with a lifted chin and feigned calm.

Hel stepped down from her throne's platform and closed the distance between them. "You had better hope you have friends in Asgard," she poked his bare chest with a sharp finger, "for when I release your body back to that realm, it will only stay alive for a matter of hours if not given the proper care." She then circled behind him, tracing his Jotunn markings with that same finger. Her touch produced a very unwelcome chill. "And if your beloved Aesir do not come through for you," she continued, "then I will take you back and we can have a good ol' family reunion." She circled back around to face him. "For all of eternity."

"How sentimental of you." Loki smiled. The little imp would never have him. Family or not, he was no one's prisoner. "One question before we begin." Hel lifted her brow in intrigue while Loki steeled himself. This wasn't an easy question. "If I had truly died on the barrens of Svartaflheim, slain as the martyr they say I am, would I have been claimed by the Valkyries?"

Hel broke out in that awful cackling again, only this time she really made a show of it, throwing her head back then doubling over on herself, arms wrapped around her stomach.

Loki took a deep breath and rolled his eyes. "Okay. I get it. The answer is no."

He didn't have time to get down-hearted about it before Hel flipped herself upright again, totally composed. "I actually have no clue if they would or not. I'm Queen of _Helheim_, remember? Not Valkyrieheim or Valhallaheim..."

Loki held his hand up to silence her, his patience at an all time low. He couldn't remember anyone he had ever met that tested him to this extreme.

"Valhalla is for the Aesir and Vanir anyway." Hel didn't stay quiet for long. "You're a frost giant. When you die, you'll either end up here or go to...Jotun-halla. Most likely here."

Loki shook his head, regretting he ever brought up the subject of his afterlife with her. She was still a mere child. "Will you stop making up ridiculous place names? You sound like an idiot when you do that."

"So," Hel scratched her head, easily riding along with his change of subject, and sparing no sarcasm. "You're implying I'm not an idiot, yet you chose to convey that message by calling me one." She then plastered her face with a fake smile. "Thanks for the compliment, Dad. You always make me feel so special."

"Hela," Loki pleaded, placing his hands on her shoulders. He was at his wits end. "Enough with the games. Can we please get on with the plan?"

Hel frowned, beholding her father's very intent gaze with one of disappointment, even sadness. "Fine," was her clipped response. "I understand. You're in a hurry to leave, just when I was starting to have some fun with you. You come to me only because you need my help. You have no interest in spending time with me."

Loki felt his heart pang at that. She had truly mastered the guilt trip. "That is not true." And neither was what he just said. He had only come here for her help. Spending quality time with Hel was never an option he considered, not while she resided in the afterlife. There was only so much he could do for his family.

Hel pulled herself from his touch, one shoulder at a time. She saw straight through the lie. "You do realize that in order to fool your precious Aesir in believing you died, you need to look the part?"

Loki nodded, hesitantly, wondering why she was repeating herself.

"Good," she said, mood lightening. She then snapped her fingers in the air and immediately the padding of several pairs of dwarven feet could be heard around them.

Loki looked over his shoulder to see what they were up to, catching in his peripheral vision the moment just before several Nyblings thrust a spear-sized icicle into his back and out through his chest. He made a choked sound, the shock of their action seizing his body more than the actual pain did. He fell to one knee, reaching a shaking hand to the glassy barb sticking out of his chest.

Hel stepped up to him, lifting his chin with a single digit so their eyes met. "By your brother's account, you should have a pretty severe scar on your chest and back." She then winked.

"You wretched little bitch!" Loki spat, fighting each wave of pain with gritted teeth and angry growls.

"Ha! Now who's being vulgar?" Hel spun gleefully away from him, gesturing more commands to her subordinates. Loki's eyes widened at that, realizing this was only the start of the process. She wasn't joking when she said she'd bring him near death. He breathed deeply, knowing he had to be prepared for the next round. Using all the strength he could muster, he began conjuring a heating spell, his intent to melt the icicle spear and cauterize his wound.

But he wasn't quick enough. The Nyblings came at him with buckets of scalding water, searing his arms and chest and making short work of melting away the impaling spear. The combination of boiling and freezing water on his wound was mind numbing. He fell to other knee, then down to his hands.

Blood drained onto the cobblestones, his blood, spilling from his chest. He knew the wound was not lethal to _his_ body, but it was still debilitating. He couldn't move, couldn't conjure, couldn't even plot a defensive action. All he could do was endure the next round of attack. Then the next, and the one after. It all blurred together after a while, to the point where he couldn't even tell what kind of weapons they were using to slash and sear his flesh. The only constant throughout the entire barrage was that Hel hadn't lifted a single finger against him. She merely stood back and conducted it all.

Loki finally let himself fall completely into a bloodied heap, but he didn't allow his consciousness to leave him. He wanted to remain aware of the entire process, in case Hel tried to pull anything. He could barely make out her cadaverous feet moving toward him. He then heard the rustle of her ruffles as she knelt down.

"Now," she offered in the most civil tone yet, "you look like a martyr."

It was over, by the grace of Yggdrasil, the torture was completed. The pain came in waves still, most of which he weathered but some of which induced tears. Loki had to admit he was impressed. The wrath his daughter had orchestrated could rival even what the Chitauri had subjected him too. That was information he would stow away for future use indeed.

He pushed a smile across his scalded cheeks and peeked up at her from behind a splay of wet, bloodied hair. "I suppose a _thank you_ is in order?"

"Nah, don't bother." She made a dismissal gesture, as if he was actually going to thank her. "You won't be feeling so grateful when I take back my tapestry."

Loki laughed, despite how it wrenched his gut to do so. "I actually will be grateful for that."

"Why?" Hel crinkled her brow. "Don't you like my fashion sense?"

"Your taste in textiles has something to be desired," he rasped out, sparing no sarcasm even with such a weakened voice. "I'd sooner wear the skin of a Nybling then this gaudy purple monstrosity."

Hel shook her head, insulted. "You are such a snob. Now I'm glad I didn't grow up in Gladsheim. I'd sooner off myself then be like you."

"Well then," Loki reasoned, laughter bleeding into his speech. "If that is the case, you are exactly where you want to be."

Hel nodded acceptingly, then shrugged. "It could be worse. I could be in your shoes." She then stood and barked orders to her servants. "Fetch me my spell book. The big, dusty one."

Loki closed eyes and tried to remain collected. He knew what was coming. The torture had only been the first phase. A magical charade of resurrection now lay before him, and he imagined it wasn't something a living, conscious body was meant to endure. He breathed deeply. This was all new territory in the realm of physical pain.

But it was too late to turn back now.

* * *

Musical accompaniment: Only Makes Me Laugh by Danny Elfman


	10. A Beautiful Lie

A/N: Because shopping with Thor had to happen again. /fangirl

* * *

"What is the story with Fenrir? Sif asked, gazing thoughtfully at the large stock of meat in the butcher's inventory. She and Thor had decided to visit the Medina's open air market, something they always had enjoyed doing together when duty wasn't calling.

"That that came out of nowhere," said Thor, giving Sif an odd look as he ripped a bite from his jerky.

Sif dropped a few coins in the butcher's hand, smiling at the blood-stained man. She then turned to Thor, making only brief eye contact. Fenrir's condition was one of many thoughts weighing heavily on her.

"I've been wondering about this for a while now," she said as they moved on casually to the next vendor.

"Is this the reason your mind has been elsewhere since my return?" Thor strolled alongside of her. His extra-large jerky piece was already half-eaten. "The reason I am able to pummel you repeatedly in the training grounds."

Sif's pride prickled at that. She narrowed her eyes at him and tore a vicious bite from her jerky. "The only reason you keep winning is because I have switched out my glaive for a sword." She spoke confidently while chewing the toughened meat. "I have a bet going with Fandral that I can outmatch his rapier with, what he calls, 'a clumsy cutlass,' but I need to practice before I can do that."

"Of course," Thor teased. "The old handicap excuse." Sif sneered at him but decided to let it go. The competition between her and Fandral wasn't news to Thor and he always put money down in Sif's favor. This time around wouldn't be any different. He smiled at her. "Be sure to let me know when you face off. I wouldn't want to miss that." The rest of the jerky disappeared into his mouth, a piece big enough for two or three bites reduced to one. "What was that you were asking about Fenrir?"

Sif understood 'asking' and 'Fenrir' from Thor's meat-muffled question. It was enough though. She swallowed the remainder of her bite before speaking. "I don't understand why he was exiled. What did he do wrong?"

Thor sucked the last flavors of jerky from his fingertips. "Fenrir was exiled for the same reason his siblings were. The prophesies claim they will become our enemies." His voice was lacking its usual conviction.

"You do not sound convinced," Sif pondered, gazing curiously at him. "Do you truly believe the prophecies?" She never put her faith fully in philosophical speculation. There just simply wasn't enough tangibility to it.

"I used to," Thor replied somberly. "Before Father banished me to Midgard."

"Yoohooo, your highness!" a nearby vendor sang out. It was the baker, a round, jolly man. His booth was always filled with bread baked into fancy shapes. "You must try a free sample," he beckoned, bustling out from behind his counter, curvy body gracefully weaving around his artful displays of edible sculptures. He presented Thor with a golden biscuit that resembled a ram. "Please, my King, I insist."

Thor brightened at the gesture. "You are too kind, good baker." He took the offering and immediately bit its head off, smiling stretching his now bulging cheeks. In Thor's mind, there was no gray area between food and art. If there was something edible in his grasp, especially something gifted to him, the obvious way to appreciate it was to stuff it in his mouth.

The baker didn't seem to mind. He was too enamored by Thor's presence to care about formalities. Too transfixed to even notice anything else around him, namely Sif. That was how it was everywhere lately, all eyes glued to their new king. Thor typically captured the bulk of attention from Asgard's population, but now that he was king, Sif may as well been invisible. Her social status had apparently been demoted to just another of Thor's warrior companions, plus it seemed the novelty of being the only woman in her ranking had worn off. It wasn't a lowly status by any means, but it wasn't what she was used to.

She couldn't help but wonder is this was the feeling Loki had been constantly burdened with when growing up.

"Your highness," the baker drawled. "Now that you are king, I expect you'll be throwing a feast or two in the near future? And if so, won't you need to hire a—"

"Thank you for the gift," Sif interrupted, subtly tugging Thor back onto the main thoroughfare. She was not about to let them be snared by the baker's lengthy catering proposals again. Thor gave the man a firm, grateful nod before rejoining Sif on the street.

"You were saying," Sif resumed their prior conversation, "about how you have lost faith in the prophecies."

"Yes," Thor replied through a mouthful of doughy ram body. "While on Midgard, I met many mortals who live without the weight of a prewritten destiny upon them. Most do not bind themselves to the teachings of their ancient prophets, at least not beyond the moral guidelines." He paused, swallowing one cheek full while chewing over a thought. "Steve was the exception there. He did not take kindly to my title of god. But Jane, Dr. Selvig, Tony, Dr. Banner, even Darcy. All of them see the future as a blank slate, something they have the power to influence." He swallowed the rest of the bread, nodding with conviction. "I respect that."

Sif was pleased to hear this confession, relieved to learn she wasn't the only one skeptical of the old beliefs. However, it also meant Thor was becoming more distanced from his father. "This...is not something the All-Father would be pleased to know."

"No, it is not," Thor said, giving her a brief glance of gratitude for her understanding. "He believes a king should base all of his decisions on the prophecies." Thor shook his head. "That is not something I can do. I refuse to believe Ragnarok is our ultimate demise. That is the same as conceding defeat."

Their conversation had made them pause in front of a cart draped in textiles of all colors and sizes, so sure enough, out popped the vendor from behind. She was a sweet, withered up old thing, draped liberally in her own wares.

Sif smiled at her but was not ready for their conversation to be interrupted again. "Then you believe we will survive Ragnarok?" she asked Thor.

"I don't believe Ragnarok has to happen at all," Thor said, smiling at the woman as she tried to tempt him with a regal green and gold cape. "Thank you elder, but green is not my color." She nodded, ordering Thor with a gesture to wait while she disappeared behind her cart again. Thor continued where he left off. "I think if we follow down a path assuming it will destroy us, then we will have crafted our own demise."

Sif absorbed his words with appreciation. It was nice to hear someone finally speak these concerns aloud. She was about to tell him this, but the old woman returned, this time with a bright blue piece of candy. Thor's eyes lit up.

"You always were a smart lad," said the woman, placing the candy in Thor's palm like it were a precious relic. She then pulled a red candy from her pocket and placed it in Sif's hand. When she spoke again, it was directed at Sif. "Ragnarok is just a bunch of superstitious hooey dreamt up by mead-drunken gods." Sif snorted, popping the candy in her mouth. This old commoner had some gall! Sif liked it. The woman turned back to Thor. "No disrespect to your father bless his sleepy little heart."

There was nothing but disrespect to Odin in her previous statement! But Thor was ever kind and gracious "No offense taken, elder," he said sweetly. "Your honesty is always appreciated."

Ouch. That statement caught Sif off guard. She still hadn't revealed any of the truths to Thor that she had been withholding, hoping for just the right moment.

"I'm sorry, Sif," Thor said as they journeyed further into the market. "You had asked about Fenrir and here I am pounding you with my philosophies."

"No, don't apologize," Sif said, meeting his eyes. "This is a side of you I rarely get to see." Her gaze then lowered to his mouth, which the candy had dyed blue. Lips, teeth, tongue, the whole works. She snickered, knowing that meant her mouth was bright red, and that was the reason Thor was chuckling right back at her.

"Harlot Red lips are a side of you I don't often get to see."

"Shut up!" Sif slugged him in the arm. He shoved her in defense so she punched him again, even harder. They were quite the insufferable pair, forgetting in the moment that it was indeed Asgard's king behaving like a child in a busy public place. No one really seemed to care though. This was the ease of the Medina, Asgard's undercity, where the residents were the most hospitable and least judgmental Sif had ever met.

A comfortable enough environment to finally tell Thor her secrets, away from the eavesdropping gossips in the palace.

"My feelings toward the exiles of Loki's offspring has changed over the years," Thor continued as they approached a hatter's booth. It was filled with all manner of headwear from the silly to the downright ridiculous. "I did not question Father's decisions at the time, trusting he knew what he was doing. But I see now his judgment was poor, compromised by fear." Thor specifically picked out a helmet that sported a large, feather Mohawk, and shamelessly put it on. He then turned to Sif. "A king must not be a chicken."

Sif couldn't help but laugh. There never seemed to be a dull moment with Thor. She sought out a hat for herself, choosing one made of wiry black fur that had a pair of pointed ears on it. She pulled it off the rack but couldn't bring herself to put it on. She just looked at it thoughtfully. "Fenrir is prophesized to be the All-Father's slayer."

"Aye," Thor replied, swapping out his feathered helmet for very wide-brimmed hat. It looked like something Fandral would wear.

"But you don't believe that?" Sif was still clutching wolf hat.

"Not any more." Thor spoke with confidence, striking a pose for Sif. "Am I dashing?"

"Quite." Sif commented half-heartedly.

Thor huffed, disappointed at her divided attention. He disappeared behind another hat rack for moment, then popped out on the other side, plopping an oversized winged helmet upon Sif's head.

Sif drew her gaze up to the gaudy silver brim that was now sliding down over her eyes. She sighed, regretfully not feeling the playfulness. She couldn't keep putting off what needed to be said.

"Sif, you are most certainly vexed by something," Thor complained. "I expected you to be force feeding me that hat by now."

"Thor...," Sif began. Then her words failed her. Her mouth was open but nothing could come out.

Thor tilted her helmet up to fully see her eyes. He was giving her an odd look. Her heart sped up its pace. He was now suspicious, which meant there was no turning back. "Yes...?"

Sif cursed herself internally then turned away from the booth, desperate to collect her thoughts. Thor had to snatch the helmet from her head and toss it back on the rack to keep her from accidentally walking off with it.

"Sif!" Thor caught up to her, blocking her path. "Please tell me what is troubling you."

Just then, a petite old man came shuffling up to Thor, offering him a juicy and succulent sample of goat meat on a stick. It smelled divine. Sif was even tempted to take it.

Thor didn't even glance at it, just made a polite gesture of refusal, keeping his gaze fixed on Sif. The vendor shrugged then shuffled off.

Sif inhaled deeply. There wasn't going to be a more opportune time than this. "I have...something I need to tell you. A few things actually."

"You can tell me anything," Thor assured.

Her body went rigid. "Do you remember, back during the Elven Civil War, when you kept partnering me with Loki, sending us on the same assignments?"

"Of course I remember," Thor spoke with fondness. "I wanted the two of you to keep each other out of trouble."

"Yes, well..." Sif's eyes were everywhere but on Thor. "I think we got more _into_ trouble than _out_ of it." She felt her cheeks heat up.

Thor laughed, much to Sif's surprise. "I figured as much!" He then teasingly shoved her shoulder. "Did you think I was blind to it?"

"No, Thor..." Sif was starting to get exasperated. "I'm not talking about just _that_, but what happened afterward."

Thor's smile faded but he remained in good spirits. "Sif, please don't burden yourself with this. I know why he cut your hair. I do not begrudge you for breaking his heart. Loki was..." Thor paused, his shoulders dropping. "Not an easy soul to be close to."

"There's more to it than that!" Sif was now impatient, desperate to get this truth out. "Loki and I had a ch—"

Sif's voice was overtaken by a sudden cracking of massive thunder. It shook the entire market, rattling dishes and knocking items off their shelves. Everyone was startled and a great wave of reactionary murmurs began filling the market air.

Sif beheld Thor incredulously then shoved him hard in the chest. "That's not funny!" she shouted. "I was trying to tell you something important."

"It wasn't me!" Thor blinked innocently at her. Another crash erupted in the sky, this time with lighting, a strange, alien lighting. Green in color and branching out across the entire sky.

Thor took it all in with awe and wonder, but not a trace of fear. Storm clouds moved in unnaturally fast, consuming the clear winter skies and bringing a torrent of rain with them. The vendors ducked under cover of their booths, some even diving under tables. This storm was without a doubt not an ordinary occurrence. Sif had only seen clouds form that quickly one other time in her life. And it happened only a week ago, right before Loki's descent into the abyss.

"We need to be at the seashore," Sif ordered with urgency, eyes locked onto Thor. "Now! Get us there." It was a simple deduction. Loki traveled to Helheim via sea serpent, why not travel from Helheim in the same fashion?

Thor didn't stop to question why before he started swinging his hammer, trusting the intensity of Sif's gaze. He pulled her to his body before thrusting Mjolnir into the air and propelling them both upward. Sif held on tightly, her fingers hooking into the gaps in his armor. This wasn't the first time she had travelled this way but it happened so infrequently that she never got comfortable with it. She didn't like her lack of control in the situation.

But that was the least of her worries at the moment.

"Which shore are we going to exactly?" Thor shouted while rain pelted him hard in the face. He took them to the top of tall spire, one with barely enough flat space to stand on. Sif surveyed the expansive view, still holding onto Thor to keep balanced. The city was divided up by several bodies of water. There were a multitude of shores to choose from. Thor could only glance questionably between Sif and the stormy city.

Sif narrowed her focus onto the largest body of water, the shore they had held Frigga's funeral at. That one had the most direct connection to the great waterfall, the one that dropped into lower realms.

"Sif look!" Thor pointed at the same body of water, specifically the arches of a serpentine body poking above the surface. The sight made Sif's heart leap. Sometimes, she hated being right.

"Get us down there!" she hollered.

Thor spun up Mjolnir and they were quickly airborne again, aiming directly for the wide, crescent shaped shore. Sif squinted at the pelting rain, struggling to keep the serpent in her sight. He was moving toward the shore last she saw of him. As they drew closer, she could see the wake where the beast had been, but there was still no sign of him.

Thor began slowing their descent as the shore drew closer and it was then Sif spotted a body. She didn't wait for Thor to land and released her hold on him, dropping twenty feet or so down and tumbling into a controlled roll upon landing. The body was washing onto shore at that point. She recognized him instantly, the long limbs, the pale skin, slightly bluing from the chill of the water. She lunged for him, heart pounding frantically. He looked like a corpse...

"Sif!" Thor called out from a jog down the shore. A wind gust had carried him, putting distance between their landing points.

Sif was upon the body now. Upon Loki's body, on her hands and knees, unfazed by the chill of the wake splashing around them. She beheld the dark prince with horror, seeing all the wounds and scars that hadn't been there before. He was completely nude, seemingly stripped of everything, even life.

"Loki..." She turned his head to face her. Then she saw his chest rise, taking in breath. Her own chest collapsed with relief.

"Sif!" Thor called again, quickly closing the distance between them.

Loki moved his head on his own, coughing weakly. He then slowly opened his eyes and immediately founds Sif's, which were looking upon him with a surge of emotion.

"What have you done to yourself?" she whispered, holding a shaking hand above his severe chest wound. "Your wounds...they're real. You reckless idiot!"

Thor finally caught up to them and approached slowly, becoming more stricken with each step. "It can't be..."

Loki tried to laugh but it degraded to a cough. "It's good to see you too, Sif." He still managed to hold his grin.

That was all the convincing Thor needed, for he dropped to his knees on the opposite side of Loki, his mouth gaping, his face draining of all its color. Sif's heart stung at the sight, at seeing Thor's eyes welling up in tears. She pulled back, sitting upright and allowing Thor access to his dearly missed brother.

Loki looked up at Thor with an unreadable expression. He had lost his grin, but Sif could swear she saw a glint in his eyes, confessing a hint of joy in this reunion.

"Loki..." Thor grasped Loki's face with a firm yet loving grip, his eyes taking in the whole of the improbable sight. "By the grace of the Eternal, you've come back to us."

"More like..." Loki's eyes fluttered as a grew increasingly uncomfortable. He tried to hide his feelings with a smirk. "...the wrath of family."

Thor knelt over him and pulled him into a strong hug. "It is truly you, Brother."

Sif could see Loki's face wincing over Thor's shoulder, the Thunder God clearly not taking his brother's wounds into account. She caught Loki's gaze and smiled at him, expressing her relief to see him again. He responded to her with a forced expression of suffering.

"You smell as though you've eaten half the market again," Loki complained to Thor with a strained voice. He was typically not as struck with sentiment as the rest of them.

Thor finally broke the hug but still held Loki up at arm's length. "How is it possible that you have returned to us?"

Sif could see that Loki was struggling to stay conscious at this point. There were also crowds of townspeople starting to gather, all reacting with various levels of shock and disbelief, probably much to Loki's unease given his bared and vulnerable condition. "Thor," Sif intervened, placing her hand on his shoulder. "We should get him to a healer."

"I second that," were the final words Loki forced out before fainting.

"Loki!" Thor eyes widened in worry. He then looked up to finally notice the encroaching crowds. The waves of gossip had already begun:

"Loki's alive!"  
"Is it really him?"  
"This could be trick of his."  
"Could Valhalla have rejected him?"  
"He died with honor, you know."  
"Look at that scar on his chest!"  
"Has he returned to break the Odinsleep?"  
"He's so pale."  
"Is Frigga coming back too?"

Sif stood up and moved toward the crowds, ordering them to keep their distance and assuring that Thor had everything under control. The people obliged but still strained to gape at every detail. She couldn't blame, really. It was a miracle after all.

At least to those who didn't know any better...

Sif looked over her shoulder to see Thor detach his royal red cape and wrap it around Loki's battered body. He then gathered the long, limp form in his arms and lifted it out of the water. Sif's heart swelled at the sight. Thor was the absolute picture of protector as he carried his beloved kin up from the shore then into the crowds, parting the onlookers with his commanding presence and expressive, watery eyes.

The people grew quiet as they beheld the scene. No one dared break the impact of the moment with a careless word. Thor carried Loki all the way down the long, spanning bridge that led into the palace. He didn't use Mjolnir to fly, didn't demand a horse be brought to him. He just walked, and Sif could only follow behind, dutifully. She wanted to argue at first for a quicker means of transport, but decided against it, trusting that Thor knew what he was doing. She was painfully moved by his gesture to draw out what could possibly be the greatest and most unexpected joy of his life.

Damn you, Loki, Sif thought. And damn your brilliant performance. How was Sif supposed to tell Thor the truth now? That his brother's miraculous turn toward redemption...was all based on a lie.


End file.
